


If Only

by SheriffsRevolver



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Broken Bones, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Questioning, Shy Rick Grimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheriffsRevolver/pseuds/SheriffsRevolver
Summary: Rick and Daryl end up trapped in an abandoned house while they wait out a passing herd. The stress of their precarious situation gets to Rick and he lets slip something Daryl was never meant to know.





	1. A Broken Mind

**Author's Note:**

> [[Russian Translation]](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6608856) by [Sphinx28](https://ficbook.net/authors/1362460)!

Rick liked it best when he was up before the sun, the birds, and the others, when the sky was just brightening and the air was wet with morning dew. It was quiet during those hours except for the walkers gnawing at the prison fence; they never slept so he couldn’t beat ‘em, no matter how early he was up, but Rick did his best to clear out a few, first thing, before their chorus of groans wore away at his mood.

Normally, his routine was simple; predictable, even. In some way, it became his favorite part of a settled life. Each morning, he’d wake up in the early hours and get himself ready in silent, careful not to wake the others. He’d head out and clear the fence until he grew tired of it, and then take to monitoring the crops, though “monitoring” mostly meant kicking dirt around, inspecting any budding sprouts, watching the sun peak out above the horizon, and thinking. Plenty of thinking. 

The early morning hours were the ones Rick kept for himself. It was the only time he could think without urgency, without interruption. He’d think about the past, the future, his family, and himself. He thought about the new world both practically and philosophically. He made plans for hypothetical scenarios. He lamented over things he wished he could change, and thought endlessly, _If only I had done this_ , _If only I had known, If only it happened this way instead, If only…, If only…, If only._

Sometimes, Rick ended up thinking about things he ought not to. Most notably, Daryl, in the particular ways he had come to think of Daryl. Rick couldn’t remember exactly when his thoughts of him branched off from normal and became something gut-churning and grim, yet that had become the case in one way or another. Now that the development had occurred, Rick couldn't do anything to work it backward. He lost control of it. So, despite his many efforts, Daryl had become, and would indefinitely remain, a black, bubbling creek running through his mind.

Oftentimes, Rick’d consider his family carefully and for many hours—it was almost his purpose in the community to grant careful consideration to each and every member—but certainly, he favored some over others. Carl and Judith occupied a disproportionate amount of his mental capacity, because they were kin. Lori and even Shane spent a lot of time on his mind, too, back when things were different. Since then though, he pushed them aside. _None of it matters anymore,_ he’d say to himself, _let the dead rest._ That became a personal mantra with all the times he’d repeated it to himself. There were still people looking to him. He had to put them first now. _Let the dead rest._ His new family, Glenn, Maggie, Carol, and all the others—Daryl, included—certainly took their fair share of his thoughts as well. Yet, somehow…

There was a mental shift when it came to Daryl. Over time, as the number of experiences together climbed, along with the number of times they had saved each other’s lives, Daryl became the most favored of all his extended family, and with that status came a larger stake in Rick’s brain. That much never bothered him. _So what_ , he’d think. Daryl was a friend, a best friend maybe, or even a partner, and it only made sense Rick’d feel that way about him given all they’d been though since their first encounter on the outskirts of Atlanta. A partner—he hadn’t had one of those since Shane and Daryl was a far better man then Shane. Rick liked that place Daryl had landed in. It felt good to have someone he could trust. It felt good to replace Shane's betrayal with the hope and mutual respect his relationship with Daryl promised.

The problem, though, was that his traitorous mind didn’t stop there. Soon the frequency, duration, and even content of Rick’s thoughts on Daryl surpassed all others but Carl and Judith. Then, it surpassed even them. Daryl was constantly on Rick’s mind. By the time Rick considered whether or not it was normal, it was too late. His thoughts were consumed by this man who, if being earnest, Rick barely knew. 

So, in a way, Daryl was a part of Rick’s morning routine, too. When Rick first woke up, he’d first think of Daryl, his head already fast formulating ideas of their next interaction, imaging hypothetical scenes and conversations. While he washed up, he’d run through scenarios in which Daryl nearly died, or could have nearly, or could still until his body was vibrating with the stress of it. While he was clearing off the fence, he’d think about who Daryl might have been before, who he was now, and try and piece together some sort of character profile for the enigma. When he halfheartedly gardened while waiting for the morning sunrise, Rick’s mind would wander. When he found it again, he’d be staring off deep into space, tentatively approaching something more alien: Daryl’s parted lips, his tongue swiping over them so they were slick and glistening. He’d open his mouth and in that gruff drawl of his, voice soft and breathy, he’d say _Rick—_ and then, just as fast as he fell in, Rick would yank himself out, give his head a good shake, knock his skull a few times with the palm of his hand, and scold himself, _God damn it man, what’s with that? What’s with that?_ Then deliberately turn his attention elsewhere. However, it was always done with a sorry sort of ache in his chest that would hang there for many hours which Rick couldn’t understand. It made him angry and sick at himself. 

One particular morning, Rick was in the final stage of his routine, a hoe in hand, staring dead-eyed, straight in front of him, not seeing anything but the picture in his mind—Daryl, standing beside him on a porch in the early evening. His hair hangs in dirty strands in front of his darkened eyes. He’s drinking from a beer bottle. His lips press up against the mouthpiece as he takes a swig. Rick says something funny, though he can’t imagine what the joke was. It catches Daryl by surprise. His eyes light up a bit, he even cracks a smile. He leans into Rick and gives him a playful nudge with his shoulder. Daryl’s strong arm presses up against Rick’s. His body feels firm and warm and—A rattle of chains in the distance startled Rick back into reality. He looked toward the direction it came from and there was Daryl, fully dressed with his bow slung across his back, unlatching the chains on the first main gate. 

“Aye, Daryl!” Rick called out. He threw his hoe down and jogged over toward him. 

“Whatcha want, man?” Daryl called back, not bothering to look up from his project with the lock and chains. 

A moment later and Rick was up behind him. Daryl threw an acknowledging, albeit dismissing, glance over his shoulder and repeated his question.

“Whatcha want?” 

“I wanna know where you’re planning on going.” Rick’s tone was accusatory, but Daryl pretended like he couldn’t hear it’s edge. 

“On a run,” he said.

“It’s not even dawn yet. You’re just gonna go out on your own? We got a run planned for tomorrow. Why don’t you—“

“I’m going on a run,” Daryl repeated. Rick could hear the unspoken statement underlying it: _and you’re not going to stop me._ The lock was freed and Daryl set to pulling the chains away. Soon they were freed too, and Daryl thrust them into Rick’s hands. 

“Lock up once m’out.” He wove his dirtied fingers through the chain link prison fence. Rick’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Daryl, stop.”

To Rick’s surprise, Daryl did stop just before he heaved the gate open and slipped through. He turned his ear toward Rick as if to say, “go on then, here I am.” Rick’s heart hammered in his chest. His eyes locked onto Daryl’s downturned mouth and he knew he oughta leave this one be. Daryl was a grown man, he could take care of himself. He certainly didn’t need any of Rick’s permission to leave. Maybe they lived in a prison, but none of them were meant to be prisoners. Rick knew he oughta walk away and let the man have to himself, give Daryl the time to mull through whatever troubles drug him out of bed so early. Yet, as soon as Rick considered the possibility of letting Daryl head out on his own, going to god knows where and for who knows how long, a burning anxiety rolled through his gut. 

“Let me grab my gun then,” he said.

Daryl eyebrows raised a bit at that. His eyes darted quickly over Rick’s face as if to read it. “Aren’t you busy playing farmer?”

“Carl’ll finish it up for me. You gon wait while I go get it?”

Daryl stared at Rick out of the corner of his eye, confused, still trying to read a face that was apparently as unreadable as Rick could ever hope. The look between them only lasted a few seconds perhaps, but Rick could feel his cheeks heating and his brow prickling with sweat. He was relieved when Daryl finally huffed in irritated forfeit and nodded. Rick nodded, too, passed the lock and chains off to Daryl, and hustled back to the prison to grab his gear, all the while, keenly aware of Daryl’s indignant gaze piercing down on him as he strode away.


	2. A Broken Body

Rick could barely support Daryl’s body with his one shoulder and simultaneously beat off the oncoming flood of walkers following close behind them. Daryl fought against the herd too, but that mainly amounted to him pummeling the heads of any that got too close with his bow and yelling for Rick’s attention whenever they overcame him. The fight was bloody and desperate, and probably looked pretty pathetic with how beat down they were when it came time to tuck tail and run for it. Rick was bleeding badly from his head and Daryl’s lower leg had been snapped in two. It hung there useless and flopping while Rick yanked him along but Daryl was so pumped full of adrenaline, he had hardly noticed his leg beyond it’s lack of proper function. 

There was a house, one of many duplicates on the long, overcrowded suburban street, that had its windows boarded up. Rick dragged Daryl and himself away from the growing crowd and to the front door. To his relief, the door swung open when he tried the knob. In one clean move, he threw it wide open and shoved Daryl inside. Once Daryl landed on the other side of the threshold, he quickly scampered up onto his ass and loaded an arrow into his bow. He fired through the door’s opening, getting one walker in the head, then another, while Rick fought off the dead enough to make it inside himself. As soon as it was possible, he yanked Daryl’s arrows free from the skulls of those he'd hit, slipped through the door, slammed it behind him, bolted, and locked it. The dead threw themselves against the house. It rattled the windows and shook the foundation. They had barely made it. 

Rick didn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. He took off through the house and searched each room with his gun raised and finger steady against the trigger. The perimeter was checked at all weak points. Each window and door besides the main was found to be well boarded. 

It was a small house. The front door opened to a small living room. Five paces forward was an open archway that lead to the kitchen. To the right was a hallway with five doors. Three of them opened up to reveal small bedrooms, the fourth a bathroom. The last was boarded over like the windows and doors. Rick speculated that it lead out to the garage.

The place was empty and cleaned out. There was nothing but pieces of the old world left behind. From the looks of it, the previous tenants spent some time here and when they were ready to move on, they collected their things, pried the boards off the front door, and walked right out. Of course, when they left, the place wasn’t surrounded on all sides by a mess of riled-up walkers.

It hadn’t taken them long to pour over through the side yards and into the back. The house was surrounded on all sides. They were trapped. By the time he returned to the living room where he had left Daryl, he found him passed out cold, sprawled across the wood floor, his purpling leg contorted at a hideous angle.

***

Only a quarter of an hour had passed before Daryl came to, but if Rick was asked, he would report it was five times that. For the first few minutes, Rick paced passed Daryl and vigorously chewed at his nail. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The hope was that Daryl eyes would flutter open at any moment and he would be fine. He’d get up and set to making up some sort of plan with Rick on what to do next and how to get out of this mess they landed themselves in. _They’d dealt with worse_ , Daryl would say, _this ain’t nothing._

But every time Rick caught a glimpse of that leg from the corner of his eye, he knew it was a pipe dream. Daryl was seriously messed up. There was no walking out of here, the hoard aside. He wouldn’t even be able to stand.

After a period of deliberation, Rick finally decided to move Daryl over the the cloth-covered sectional that took up most of the living room. It was hard enough to lift Daryl’s limp body but it was even more difficult to not to jostle his frame too harshly for fear of hurting his leg even worse. It took some strength and careful maneuvering but he successfully propped up Daryl in the corner of the couch closest to the window and extended his leg in front of him. Then, for lack of better action, Rick returned to his previous routine. He paced the floor, chewed his nails, focused his intense stare on Daryl’s hunched over form, and waited for him to wake up. 

After a few minutes turned into a few more, Rick’s thoughts began to eat at him. _If only I had said…_ , _If only I hadn’t…, If only it was different, If only…, If only…, If only._ His heart hammered inconsistently in his chest, his breathing became short and rapid, his eyes brimmed with a dangerous wetness. Each minute felt like an lifetime of pain and suffering. _But I didn’t, I didn’t do the right things, and now he’s dead. Daryl’s dead, and you’ve killed him. He’s a dead man because of you. Daryl’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead._ By the time Daryl did shake himself awake, Rick had worked himself up onto the edge of a mental breakdown. 

Daryl eyes fluttered open to reveal confusion written throughout them. He was disoriented from his fainting episode, but as soon as he shifted his weight and felt the shooting pain delivered from his right leg, the morning’s unfortunate events came rushing back to him. He pitifully attempted to stifle a pained groan, but Rick was carefully attuned to him and heard it where it died behind his tightly clenched lips. He was on his knees in front of Daryl within a second, his hands hovering over Daryl’s crumpled form, careful not to touch him, but prepared to as soon as necessary. Daryl studied Rick’s mindful attention and pained expression. Daryl’s frown deepened. A strange sort of passive sadness flashed across his face.

“I’m bit?” he ventured. 

Rick shook his head and tried to will back the water at the edge of his eyes. He had to be strong. He had to suck it up and be strong. For Daryl.

“Nah, man,” he tried to say nonchalantly, yet he knew from Daryl’s increasing discomfort that his face was betraying him. “Not bit. Broken bone, though. I think it’s broke in two but it could be worse’n that, for all I know. You’re not gonna walk, that’s for sure.”

“What’re we gon do?” Daryl looked genuinely afraid now that the reality of the situation was being spoken to him so plainly. Fear was something Rick’d only seen expressed by Daryl a handful of times. It only made him feel worse. He wanted to make the situation disappear, wanted to protect Daryl from that fear, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. _Look what you’ve done to him, Rick._ Daryl’s own vulnerability, paired with Rick’s uncertainty, and the hostile ambiguity of their situation all worked in tandem to create a building anxiety in Daryl. Rick saw Daryl’s furrowed brow and shaking hands, and a nauseating guilt bubbled up inside him. _You did this. You killed Daryl. It was you._ The wetness in his eyes consolidated into teardrops and he couldn’t hold them back any longer. One drop slipped down his cheek and then another, but his gaze didn’t falter. He looked into Daryl’s eyes and tried to communicate telepathically the fullness of his regret, _I’m sorry, this is my fault, I’m sorry._ Daryl’s fear turned into panic.

“Well, what the fuck we gon do, man? How we gon get out of this? There’s gotta be a way out,” he said. 

Rick stood abruptly and turned away. Another set of tears were coming up and he couldn’t let Daryl seem them fall. He hated himself for how his voice wavered when he spoke. He chose his words carefully, trying to sound in control and self-assured, but instead it came out forced.

“I dunno, man. We’re surrounded on all sides. Nobody knows where we are. Nobody’s been on this side before. Even if they did send a team out, even if they somehow knew right where to find us, there’s no way a handful of our people could cut through a hoard like that. It looks like we gotta just wait it out.”

“So, we’re dead meat in here then! What the fuck, Rick? What the hell are we waiting for if there ain’t nobody comin’?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” he said. He turned his head to speak over his shoulder, but kept his back toward Daryl.

“What the fuck, man, look at me! This ain’t no fuckin’ joke.”

“You hear me laughing?”

“Well you ain’t takin’ it serious, neither! Turn around, you fuckin’ prick, and talk to me. What’s the plan? We’re gon get out of this. We always get out of this shit. So what’s the plan?”

Rick spun around. His face was hot and it hurt to breathe the way he was. He was boiling over with frustrated energy and couldn’t possibly keep still any longer. He went back to his quick pace across the floors.

“There is no plan! We’re fucked, Daryl! You’re done, you’re not goin’ anywhere. Not like that, not in this,” he threw his hands up in the air and waved them around to signify _this shitshow that we’re in, “_ I’ve been racking my brain trying to think how I can get your busted body out of here for I don’t know how long and I’ve got nothin’. The dead are piled up on top of each other out there. They’re stacked higher than me. If I could get out there, I could find a way to draw ‘em off. I could find a car and come back for you, but I can’t _get out the damn door_! What the fuck else are we gonna do but wait? There’s nothin’ else! We’re dead men and it’s my fuckin’ fault!”

His fist flew through the air and connected with the drywall. He knocked a hole right through the first layer. He pulled his fist free and did it again. Again and again, all the while shouting more of the same. “It’s my fuckin’ fault,” he said, “It’s my fuckin’ fault that you’re dead, there's nothing I can do, nothing, nothing, nothing...!” It was such an overzealous display of frustrated aggression that he hardly even noticed when his first started coming back bloodied, or Daryl’s pleads to, “Shut the fuck up,” because the walkers were, "‘bout ready to break down the damn door.” It wasn’t until the back of his head was hit with a throw pillow from across the room that he was dragged out of his frenzied state and realized the damage he’d done. He turned back around toward Daryl, his shaking, red-painted hand cradled in the other one. He lifted his burning, tear-filled eyes and was met with a bitter scowl.

“Board up the fuckin’ door,” Daryl said.


	3. A Broken Heart

Over the course of the next few hours, Daryl quickly assumed the role of calm, confident leader that Rick would normally occupy. Rick, meanwhile, just did his best to keep his head on straight. It was surprisingly easy under Daryl’s supervision, who, even though he was in severe pain and confined to his spot on the couch, wore his new hat well. Not that it surprised Rick—it wasn't the first time that Daryl had to step up while Rick took a ride around crazy town.

Rick was thankful for it. Daryl gave clear tasks and guided their completion: first it was boarding up the door, then it was searching the house for any supplies, and finally, splinting his leg, which was undoubtedly the hardest task of them all. Rick didn’t know what he was doing and it killed him to hear the pained whimpers that slipped free from Daryl every time he messed up. Somehow, through the stress and the pain, Daryl coaxed Rick into a strange sort of tranquility with whispered assurances that _everything was okay_ , that he was _doing a fine job,_ and _no it didn’t hurt, not a bit_. Eventually, Rick finished the job with a hiking stick and some fabric strips made out of one of the bedsheets. It was temporary, but at least it kept Daryl’s leg locked and supported.

The house search had returned nothing of any use but the splinting materials, some candles and matches, and a single can of corned beef that had rolled under the kitchen table during the last occupant’s hurried departure. Daryl was disappointed that there was no painkillers or liquor, but when Rick delivered the bad news, he only shook his head and said, “Don’t worry about it.” 

By the time Rick had found a way to get at the food inside the can without an opener, the sun was setting. He reentered the living room and found Daryl where he left him, propped up in the corner of the couch, splinted leg outstretched on the chaise, the good one pulled up against his body so he was sitting halfway Indian style. He had drifted off into a fitful sort of sleep but awoke with a start at the sound of Rick’s voice, though it had barely been a whisper.

“Got somethin’ for you,” he said.

Daryl pushed himself upright and hissed at the pain the movement caused. “Whasit?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Dinner,” Rick said, passing off the can and fork. Daryl took it and dug into it hungrily. Rick smiled at the sight. Daryl looking eternally grateful for a can of cold, over-salted meat gave Rick a special sort of pleasure that he nearly forgot he could feel. He sauntered over to the couch, plopped down on the other side of it, and threw his legs up in the space between him and Daryl. Daryl looked at Rick’s filthy boots just inches from him and scowled around a mouthful of food.

“Get that nastiness away from me,” he said, and shoved Ricks leg’s off the couch. Rick grinned and threw his feet right back up.

“You got your legs up, why can’t I?” Rick said.

“My leg’s broke, ya fuckin’ asshole,” he said, shoving Rick’s legs off again. This time, he moved his body a bit too much and winced at the pain.

“Alright now, alright. Don’t hurt yourself. How ‘bout I take the boots off?” Before Daryl replied, Rick set to work unlacing his boots. He yanked them off his feet, first one, then the other, and once he had tossed them aside, he put his legs back up on the couch. Daryl acknowledged them with a passing glance but didn’t push them off the couch again.

“You’re in a better mood,” Daryl said, eyeing Rick carefully as if was a question looking for an answer. 

Rick shrugged. “Guess so,” he reassured him.

“So,” Daryl said, shoveling another mouthful of canned meat into his face, “you gon eat?”

“There’s nothin’ else,” Rick said.

Daryl went a little slack-jawed, as if he were too ashamed to swallow the bite he’d been chewing. He glanced down at the can, found it over half gone, swallowed, and cursed.

“Dammit man, you gotta tell me before,” he held the can out for Rick to take, “rest is yers.” 

Rick smiled and shook his head. “Eat,” he said.

Daryl looked at him questioningly, but he didn’t need much convincing. He started in again, though now he was modest about it. Rick might have heard a _thank you_ mumbled in between bites of food, though it was too quiet to tell. A few moments passed where there was nothing between them at all but the sounds of Daryl’s smacking lips, the flickering candles, and the walkers’ muffled groans. 

“Well, now that you’re feeling better,” Daryl said his attention intensely focused on scraping the last few bites out of the can, “you gon tell me what that was about?”

Rick was taken aback. “What do you mean?” he said.

“That shit,” he waved his fork in the direction of the destroyed wall, not bothering to look up.

Rick’s chest tightened. It wasn’t like Daryl to bring up that sort of thing. It seemed like an unspoken rule existed between them, _some things are just better let be._ Certainly, sudden, violent mental breakdowns were high on the list of things that were better let be. 

Rick’s silence prompted Daryl to further clarify his point. “I ain’t never seen you like that before. All worked up like that over something like this.”

“What, so this is no big deal? You think I overreacted?” Rick said.

“Don’t put no words in my mouth,” said Daryl, setting down his emptied can on the couch and turning himself as much as possible to face Rick.

Rick leaned in. “What are you saying, then?”

“Most people would have reacted to this situation just like that,” Daryl gestured to Rick and the busted wall behind him with a sweeping nod, “but you’re not most people. I’m _saying_ , you ain’t acting like you.”

Rick curled his lip and dispelled an irritated, “pft”. He stood abruptly, snatching Daryl’s can on the way up. He left for the next room and headed toward the kitchen sink. His head was twisted in on itself. He didn’t even notice the mindlessness of his actions until he poured dish soap into the can, grabbed a sponge, and turned on the faucet, only to have no water come out. He scoffed and hit the sink handle back into the “off” position, and scoffed at himself again for bothering. What did it matter? There wasn't any water no matter which way the handle sat. He leaned over the sink, gripped hard onto the counter’s edge, and sighed.

It was probably cheating to walk away from a cripple. Daryl focused attention on the conversation indicated that he wouldn't give up on the topic so easily. He would have followed Rick in here if he could. Before Rick could stop the thought from coming, it passed through: _at least there’s some perks to this situation._ Rick didn’t have to look at Daryl if he didn’t want to. Whenever his cheeks grew pink or his heart hammered loud enough to pulsate his head, he could just walk away. It was a luxury he did not so often have.

Rick couldn’t help but mull over Daryl’s words. _You ain’t acting like you._ It was true. Rick had become some pathetic, degenerated form of himself. He’d grown soft. In the past, there had been situations far worse and it hardly made any impact before. Before what? _Before Daryl._ Only there was no “before Daryl”, Daryl had been with him since the start. _Before the thoughts._ But the thoughts were the same—they had been there ever since Rick woke up into this new world ruled by the dead. Sure, Rick worried about his people now more than he used to, but it only made sense. They’d grown close.  They’d lost enough people to know that no one was invincible. All the more reason to be strong and no excuse for his weakness now. _Before the thoughts of Daryl. The thoughts you have in the early morning. The thoughts about his words, the raspy voice that delivers them, the lips that give them passage. The thoughts about his mind, the intellect that supports it, the personality that shapes it. The thoughts about his body, the way his pants crease and crumple with the movement of his legs, what his chest looks like under his shirt when it’s pulled taught, his skin, warm and dry in passing touch, slick with sweat in your imagination when the shirt and the pants have been stripped away and the only thing covering him is your body, pressed hard up against his, pushing, rocking..._

A bitter growl erupted from deep within Rick’s chest and his fist flew forward into the side of the counter. “No,” he hissed, “ _no_.” He shoved it down. He wasn’t ready to deal with whatever had been building inside his chest these past few months. Perhaps he never would. Rick decided he didn’t know, couldn’t know, why he wasn’t himself lately. Maybe it was the stress of leadership or a slower-than-anticipated recovery from Lori’s death. Whatever—it was all speculation. All Rick knew was that he had to get it together and act right. Even if it was an act. He took a few deep breaths, raked his fingers through his hair, and when he reentered the living room, he was recomposed. 

Daryl was sitting there patiently awaiting Rick, looking bored with his head propped against a limp-wristed, balled-up fist. The way his eyes darted over to meet Rick’s when he came through the archway made his heart jump into his chest. 

“If you’re gonna walk away from me, you could at least give me something to entertain myself with.” Daryl sounded like a kid when he said it.

Rick smiled and threw his hands up in the air as he sauntered over to his spot on the couch. “My bad. I forgot to grab you one of the yo-yo’s. They have a whole room full of them back there,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to the back of the house, “just stacks and stacks of ‘em.”

“Shut up, asshole,” his tone was harsh but the smirk on his lips betrayed him, “When we get out of here, you owe me a yo-yo. 'Cause of yer bullshittin'.”

Rick fell back onto the couch and tossed his feet up. “You got it. First yo-yo I see, I grab. Just for you,” he said.

“Howsit I always end up with the stinkin’ feet side of ya?” Daryl nudged Rick’s crossed legs.

“What, you’d prefer the other side of me?”

“I dunno. Which end smells better?” 

“I’d guess the head.”

“Then yeah, I’d prefer it.”

Rick didn’t know what had overcome him then. In theory, he supposed it was an attempt to please Daryl, to make the broken man a bit more comfortable. In practice, he worried his motivations appeared less innocent. Rick turned his position around, effectively switching his horizontal orientation so that his feet were on the far end of the couch, with his head rested on Daryl’s left thigh. It was comfortable, for a moment, laying flat on his back, outstretched that way, with Daryl acting as his pillow. Any pleasure he may have found in the position quickly deteriorated however, when he felt the heat from Daryl’s thigh radiating against the back of his neck. Suddenly, the situation felt entirely too intimate, his heart started to pound in that familiar way, and Rick knew he couldn’t last there. Before he could push himself up and laugh it off though, Daryl put his arm across the length of Rick’s chest. 

“Yeah, that’s much better,” Daryl said, his head rolling back lazily like he was ready to sleep this way. His eyes fluttered closed and he looked completely at ease.

Rick was paralyzed. He squeezed his eyes shut. Could Daryl feel his heartbeat through his chest? It felt loud enough to rattle his whole body. He became hyper-focused on maintaining a normal breathing pattern, except he could hardly remember what normal breathing was. The room was far too quiet. All he could hear was his ragged too-short breaths and his pounding heart and—and Daryl’s breathing, too. Rick did his best to match it. _Yes, there you go, you’ve got it now._ A few minutes of silence passed and Rick finally managed to get himself to a state of manufactured calm. His breathing regulated itself, his heart slowed to a nearly normal rate, and his muscles began to relax. 

Eventually, he had talked himself down enough that he too felt at ease and on the edge of sleep. Several more minutes passed in that manner, and Rick almost believed they’d fall asleep like that: his neck and head resting against Daryl’s leg, Daryl’s arm draped lightly across his slowly rising, falling chest. It was Daryl’s groggy voice that startled his eyes open.

“Ya gon talk to me?” he said in a muted voice.

Rick glanced up and found Daryl’s head still rolled back against the top of the couch. His eyes were directed at the ceiling, though if Rick could see them properly he imagined they would be closed.

“‘Bout what?” he said.

“‘Bout you. What’s going on?” It was said casual, but Rick thought he could hear a smidge of concern in the tone. It occurred to him that perhaps Daryl _was_ concerned about him. Why else would he be so insistent about talking about what had happened?

“Don’t worry yourself. I’m fine. Leave it be,” Rick replied. His voice was too loud in the small room. The flickering candles all around them were too bright. Everything about this moment felt wrong to Rick. Like it wasn’t meant to be happening at all, not this way, not between them. A long period of silence passed, and Rick thought perhaps he buried the conversation with his finalizing statement. He waited for this strange interaction to pass into something more familiar, but instead, Daryl dug them deeper.

“Are you afraid to die?” Daryl finally asked. It sounded like the question had been waiting on the tip of his tongue all evening. He turned his face downward to look at Rick for his reply. His eyes were deep, sad, with a strange hint of something that couldn't be named. Rick could feel himself matching his expression—or maybe Daryl had only been matching his.

“No,” he answered honestly. 

“What then?”

Somehow they ended up back in the same place Rick had been trying to avoid. The second question didn’t evoke the same pull for honesty as the first. “I dunno,” he replied. 

Daryl’s frown deepened. He turned his head away from Rick. He paused for a long minute, as if contemplating his next words. “Do you even know what you were saying? You kept on ‘bout how ‘you killed us, you killed us, we’re dead men,’ this and that. All day you been givin’ me this look...like I’m dead already. I ain’t never seen you act this way before. You never quit on me, but today…I think you must’ve.” It came out slowly, in bits and pieces, sounding forced, like Daryl would rather not be saying anything at all, and to be fair, Rick could reckon that it was the most he had heard Daryl speak in a long while. The whole time he fought to gather the words, Daryl’s grip on Rick’s shirt grew tighter and by the time he was finished it was in a tight little ball inside Daryl’s closed fist. It was like he was afraid of Rick running away. 

A peculiar kind of grief presented itself to Rick. It burned through his body and made it ache like he was submerged in a bathtub of boiling water. Though it was slight and well-tempered with Daryl’s usual aloofness, Rick knew he was witnessing a vulnerability that he’d never seen from his friend before. Daryl was scared. He sat up suddenly, and Daryl’s hand fell away—he wasn’t holding onto him with any force after all—and he rotated himself until he sat facing Daryl, one leg tucked under the other, a hand on his knee, his arm around the back of the couch. He sat as close to Daryl as possible, without actually touching the man. The focused attention drew Daryl’s gaze and Rick held it steadily within his own.

“Daryl,” he said, “I will _never_ give up on you. I didn’t today, I won’t tomorrow, I won’t ever.”

“So you ain’t planning on—on ditchin’ me?” Daryl asked, his voice cracking halfway through. As soon as he said it, he averted his gaze. Rick was grateful for it too, because it meant Daryl didn’t see the blossoming tears that sprang up in the corners of his eyes.

How could Daryl have it so wrong? Was Rick really so miserable at expressing himself that he couldn’t communicate the full, genuine regard he felt for Daryl? His heart ached knowing that Daryl had spent hours considering himself a liability and a burden, imagining the ways that Rick would be better off without him, and then projecting those same imaginations into Rick’s mind. He had been sitting here all day, tired, broken up, and subject to Rick’s will, and somehow, somehow, he feared that Rick would abandon him.

Daryl had no idea what he meant to Rick. For the second time that day, a tear slipped passed his bottom lid and rolled down his cheek. He turned his head to quickly wipe it away. 

Back before the start, Lori used to always say that Rick never would speak his mind. He’d take his feelings and bottle them up instead of “putting them out there, where they could get some use,” as she said it. It seemed that all those years of marriage hadn’t taught him anything in that regard. He was having the same problem yet in entirely different circumstances, and with a different person—it seemed like his greatest weakness followed him into the new world. _Enough is enough._ Daryl need assurance, and Rick would give it to him. He’d tell Daryl the truth—or at least part of it—and there would be no more confusion about how he felt, ever again. This was the end of it.

Rick reached out and put his hand on top of Daryl’s. “Look at me,” he whispered. 

Daryl turned ever so slightly and glanced at him out of corner of his eye. He shook his head. “Just say what y’gonna say,” he grumbled.

“ _Look_ at me,” Rick said.

“No!” Daryl snatched his hand back and turned himself further away. What little bit of his face that would have still be available to Rick was concealed behind a curtain of wild hair. “Just tell me how’t’s gon be. Tell’t straight.”

“Fine,” Rick said through his teeth. He clasped his hands together and fidgeted with his thumbs. He looked to the side, then up, and to the side again. He noticed he was rocking back and forth and quickly halted the action. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and raked his hands through his hair. He couldn’t get the words to come out. Where was he even meant to start?

“Just spit it out!” Daryl said.

“Fine, fine! Here it is,” Rick huffed. He looked to the side again. He couldn’t force the words from himself with Daryl in view. 

When he finally spoke, it was barely audible. “I’m not gonna ditch you. That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. I can’t even know how you’d think that. If I fight my way out of this house the _only_ thing I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout is getting a car here, back to you. _You_ are my priority. I would do anything, I would—I would _die_ if it meant giving you a better chance to live. I mean that, Daryl, I do.”

He quickly glanced back at Daryl, but he couldn’t find any sort of signal that what he said was the right thing. Even with the pause in his speech, Daryl didn’t offer up any response. Rick figured he oughta go on.

“I wasn’t acting the way I was because I was thinkin’ ‘bout myself. I was thinkin’ ‘bout you. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have let you leave. I should have brought more people, or noticed the herd earlier on, or chose a different direction. I should have stopped what was happening before your leg snapped. If I just—If I had just done things _differently_ …Now you’re trapped in here, no supplies, no help comin’, and you can’t even walk. If I just planned better, if I just _thought ahead— "_ Rick sighed sharply through his nose. He was getting worked up again just thinking about it. _Keep your head, move on._ Rick took a deep breath. 

“I drive myself crazy trying to keep you safe. Today I failed you. So my head’s been turning all day, and I can’t stop it. I try and keep it on straight, but I just can’t, not here, not like this. All I want is to do right by _my kids_ and _you_. They’re the most important things in this world to me, ‘cause they’re blood and they’re mine. You’re up next, right after them, and you’re not even blood. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m committed to you, Daryl. Now and always. I promise you.”

Rick went quiet. He said his piece, or as much as he was willing. It hung in the air. It seemed Daryl was trying to process the entirety of what was said. But the silence lasted a few moments too long and began to suffocate Rick. Had he gone on too long? Said more than he should’ve? His mind started to reel. 

Daryl turned his head back toward Rick, his face soft and expressing no emotion except a quirked eyebrow. He turned a bit further and peered up at between locks of hair. Their eyes met and Daryl’s neutral mouth twisted up into a strange smirk.

“Well damn. I never knew that you'd been in love with me this whole time.”

Rick’s face turned a crimson color. His heart exploded in his chest; it was genuine fear he felt. He propelled himself away from Daryl, stammering all the while, “What—what—what are you—? No, no, it’s not—it’s not like that, I mean—I don’t feel that way—you’ve—you’ve got it wrong, I…”

Daryl’s smirk fell and confused shock took its place. “What the fuck man? It was a joke! The fuck are you acting like that for? The fuck?” He tried to scoot back further too, but couldn’t do anything but close the few inches of space between himself and the armrest. 

Rick didn’t know what to say. He sat staring, open-mouthed as far away from Daryl as the couch would permit. He fucked up. He admitted too much. He reacted the wrong way. Now there was this—thing—that had been brought out into the open, this thing that Rick didn’t even understand himself, and yet now—

“Are you some kinda faggot or something?” Daryl’s face had developed from plain confusion into confused disgust. 

Rick felt like he was going to hurl. “No, of course I’m not a _faggot_! I’m not gay! I’ve got two kids for christ’s sake…” He threw himself up from the couch and set to pacing the floors—apparently his go-to in times of stress. “I never said _anything_ ,” he insisted, “I never said a damn thing, you’re the one who’s making—making inferences!” His face burned, from embarrassment, from anger, both at once. Why did his body betray him this way? All he wanted was whatever scraps of dignity he could possibly maintain at this point but he couldn’t even get a hold of himself. 

Daryl gestured to the spot where Rick had just been sitting and made a serious of sounds that were meant to be words but came out as a series of exasperated caveman-like grunts that somehow effectively communicated something along the lines of, “What the hell was I _supposed_ to infer?”

“I didn’t know it was a _joke_ , alright? I didn’t want to be accused of anything. Can we drop it?” Rick said as he continued to pace.

“Are you—are you…actually in love with me?” Daryl finally managed to piece together.

“No. Don’t be dumb,” Rick spat. 

There came a long pause, wherein Daryl attempted to sort through the mess of information he had just been presented while chewing his fingernail down to the nail-bed. Rick continued to pace madly, his socked feet padding across the wood floors so fast in was nearly a jog. The silence was too much for Rick to bare. If Daryl didn’t reassure him, if he didn’t find a way to appease his sick, contorting mind, his head would surely explode.

“Say something,” Rick begged.

“I think you’re in love with me,” Daryl concluded. 

Rick sunk to the floor. He hid his face behind his hand. “I’m—I’m not…” he tried weakly. It was no use. His denial was getting him nowhere. Daryl was convinced. _That is the first and last time you ever “share your feelings.” Fucking loudmouth. Fucking dumbass._

“How long’s it been?” Daryl asked. Rick looked at him through his fingers. The guy was attempting to suppress a satisfied grin, but pieces of it broke through just the same. He was getting off on this. 

“Do you like to see me suffer?” Rick growled through a vicious frown and a curled lip.

Daryl’s effortfully forced his face back to its neutral state. “No,” he said, “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“I think your bloated sense of self-worth is making you imagine things,” Rick said, but he knew that sounded ridiculous. Daryl was the most modest man Rick knew.

“There ain’t nothin’ in this world that could've convinced me of it besides what you just did,” Daryl said, the smirk creeping back on his face already. He shook his head in disbelief. “Rick fuckin’ Grimes. How’d you let this happen?”

“I didn’t—It didn’t. Nothing’s happened. Fuck you,” he said. He pulled his legs up and rested his elbows on top of his knees. One of his hands clasped the wrist of the other, and he ducked his head down low. If he kept his eyes on the floor, perhaps he’d be able to speak without sputtering like a teenage boy.

“So like, tell me how this thing is working out in yer head. Are ya jerkin’ yer dick to me ’n’ shit?” 

Rick choked. “God, no! Jesus. Fuck, Daryl, shut your mouth.”

“Well, good thing ‘cause that’d be real gay. What then? You like my hair?” he flipped it dramatically and grinned like a buffoon. “Does it make me look like a pretty girl? Or is it the bod?” He flexed his arms, first his biceps, then his triceps, still grinning like it was a hilarious joke, “The end of the world has done me right in that at least.” _It has_ , Rick thought as he admired the way Daryl’s muscles bulged up from under his skin. Rick hated himself for the thoughts. He couldn’t stop them. By the time he recognized their appearance, it was too late to prevent their damage.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so damned pleased with yourself,” Rick said.

“I jus’ found out _Rick fuckin’ Grimes_ been wrapped ‘round my finger this whole time ’n’ I didn’t even know,” he said, “That’s a real ego stroke man, I gotta say.”

“I nearly forgot about the mouth on you.”

“It’s my mouth you like then?” Daryl said, purposefully misunderstanding Rick’s meaning. He licked his lips tauntingly with a cocky grin. Rick shook his head but that couldn’t help but draw a small smile out of him.

“Quit your shit.”

“M’just tryin’ to find my secret weapon. ‘Cause if I can just shake my ass a bit ’n’ have Rick Grimes keel over you can bet I’ll be gettin’ my way more often from here on.”

“What I mean to say is you’ve got a hick with a mouth like a faucet hidin’ under all your typical glowerin’,” Rick said, “And he’s either got the balls or the stupidity to keep talkin’ after everyone’s done hearin’ it. I haven’t seen him since Atlanta, but low and behold, here he is, been hiding out the whole time.”

Daryl frowned, “I ain’t no hick.”

“Oh, you ain’t? But see, I have a habit of handcuffing loudmouth hicks to rooftops and right now I’m thinkin’ you’d look real pretty with a metal bracelet.”

Anger flashed across Daryl’s face. “Shut up, man,” he said. He looked away. “I’ve just been teasin’s all. I don’t mean none of it.”

“You think the jokes worn thin, yet?”

“Yeah. It has.”

“Can we forget it?”

Daryl nodded. He rubbed his open hand over his face and head a few times like he was trying to wipe the last few minutes away—his memory, his thoughts, and the stupid grin that kept popping up like crabgrass—finally he took a deep breath, in and out through his nose, readjusted himself in his seat, and shook his head rough to jostle out any straggling thoughts. When he spoke again, he sounded like his normal self instead of the wisecracking, talkative thing he had evolved into over the last few minutes.

“Forgotten,” he said.

Rick nodded his appreciation and stood up. Time to make his exit before this situation was made any worse. When he turned to leave though, Daryl stopped him.

“Rick,” he said.

Rick turned back and found Daryl shifting himself back into the position he had been in earlier: head rolled back, his face to the ceiling, looking relaxed and ready to sleep. He patted his thigh where Rick’s head had been, wordlessly saying, “Come back to me.”

Rick sneered. “You think you’re some kinda comedian, don’t ya?” he huffed. He turned and started back toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. He’d find a bed to crash on and by the time morning came, Daryl’d be out of annoying jokes. Then they could really get on past this. 

“You ain’t leaving me out here. If the fucks break the door, I’ll be breakfast ‘fore you even get your ass down the hall,” Daryl said. 

Rick stopped. Daryl had a point. He couldn’t leave him out there alone and he certainly wasn’t going to move him when he was already set up good as he was. Rick sighed. Turned out his already shit night wasn’t over yet. He strode back into the living room, grabbed Daryl’s bow and arrows from off the floor and handed it to him. Then he pulled out his gun and checked the chamber—two left. It wouldn’t be enough. The anxiety that bubbled and churned in his stomach all day worsened. He closed the chamber, holstered his gun, and set to work checking the perimeter.

He took his time inspecting each window and door for breakage or gaps, even though anything he found couldn’t be fixed tonight lest he wanted the hammering to grow the herd’s excitement. It was a useless project and really it was only for Rick’s benefit—his peace of mind, partly, because it was good to know the condition of the houses fortification, and partly because it kept him away from Daryl for a bit. He hoped that by the time he finished, Daryl would have drifted off to sleep. 

When Rick returned to the living room to examine the front door and the windows over by Daryl’s end of the couch, he found that his plan nearly worked. Rick focused his attention on the window boards, but he caught a sidelong glance at Daryl whenever he could. Daryl wasn’t far from being pulled under. His body looked relaxed and limp. His breathing was deep and slow. His eyes were softly shut, his eyelashes resting on the tops of his cheeks, fluttering a bit every so often like he had already begun to dream. Rick’s tension eased a bit. That was the end of it then. Now he too could pretend that the single most mortifying event of his life never happened in the first place. 

Once he’d finished his task, Rick returned to the couch but he decided to sit as far from Daryl as he could comfortably manage. Even five feet of distance between them seemed too familiar now. Rick lowed himself down slowly, but the added weight made the couch shift and groan enough to pull Daryl from his light sleep. _Shit._ Daryl rubbed his hand over eye and glanced briefly at Rick before turning his face toward the wall.

“How long’s’t been?”

Rick’s heart jumped. His first assumption was that Daryl was reiterating his earlier question which Rick had pointedly ignored, _how long have you been in love with me?_ It took Rick some reasoning to realize that Daryl was only asking how long he’d been asleep.

“Dunno. Half hour?” Rick said. 

“Shoot. Thought’t was longer,” Daryl said. Rick didn’t reply. Daryl readjusted himself and closed his eyes again. His breathing picked up where it left off, slow and steady, and Rick figured he was on his way to sleep again. 

The room was dim. Rick had put out all the candles but two, one on the windowsill by Daryl’s head, left there so Rick could monitor him through the night, and one on the side table on Rick’s left side, meant to give him company and comfort while he kept watch. He was exhausted, but it would be many hours before he slept. Daryl needed the rest more than him; his body was healing. Besides, Rick’s head wouldn’t let him sleep. It was still reeling, playing over bits of conversation that he was meant to forget, and for seemingly no reason other than to torture himself. _If only…, if only…, if only._

He leaned back closed his eyes, crossed both his legs and arms, and stretched out as much as he could on a single couch spot. He tried to clear his mind, or if he had to think, he let it be about happy, inconsequential things. Thoughts arose and fell away, each telling plain little stories that set Rick into a state of momentary contentment. His mind wandered, first to his crops and the morning sun, _maybe next I’ll plant some beans along the fence. Everybody likes beans. Carl used to eat them all the time, when he was younger. Carl would love having beans again._ Then his mind turned to a talk he had with Carl recently, _he still looks at me like I ain’t never done him wrong. I hope he doesn’t ever grow out of it. I see that look, and I know I’ve done somethin’ right._ And on to Daryl, only he’s giving Rick a look that he’s never seen before.

His eyes are lidded and dark. He’s striding slow, painfully slow, in Rick’s direction. _Pull him closer._ Rick grabs him by the shirt and draws him in. They’re chest to chest now. Daryl looks into Rick’s eyes—he looks confident, so sure of this. His gaze sets fire to Rick’s skin. _Closer._ Rick’s hands travel downward, firmly grip Daryl by the hips, and he drags him in until they’re touching there, too. Daryl’s hands come to rest on Rick’s forearms, as if to say, “Yes, just like that.” _He wants you._ Rick leans his forehead against Daryl’s and their bodies are glued to one another in every possible way. The heat from their bodies build off one another. Every place Rick feels Daryl, he feels an impossibly powerful fire building between them. His hips stutter against Daryl’s. He can’t control it, they’re no longer taking directions from him, but the fast-growing erection in his pants. _You want him._ Daryl grinds his hips up against Rick, and fuck, _he’s hard too_. Daryl sets the pace and now it’s not just heat but pressure that’s building between them. Daryl’s head falls on Rick’s shoulder. _He’s breathless._ Daryl turns his head into him and Rick can feel Daryl’s face against his neck—the tickle of his facial hair, the hot breath coming out in short, desperate bursts, the drag of his soft, wet lips against his skin—

“Rick,” Daryl said.

Rick jumped like a child caught playing with something they weren’t meant to. He looked at Daryl wide-eyed, as if he expected Daryl to be sitting up, staring at him, wearing a stern look on his face and a wagging finger. _We talked about this, Rick. No more thoughts!_ Only Daryl was slumped over in the same position he had been in, still on the very edge of sleep, his voice no louder than a whisper in the echoing room. 

“Rick,” he said, “you up?” His voice was soft and unburdened. To his benefit, he had let go of the tension from the day. Sleep, rolling over him like waves, had eased his mind and body and left him without his typical guards. _What a strange thing._ Daryl was showing parts of himself that Rick never knew about. Earlier today, and now again, Daryl opened himself up and showed the true breadth of his existence. It was silly, but Rick couldn’t help but feel flattered to be the recipient of such secrets. He was beginning to think that he knew Daryl better than anyone else. Not that there was much competition. 

“Yeah, m’up.” Rick replied.

Daryl hesitated. “Can I ask ya somethin’?” he said.

Now it was Rick who was hesitant. Was this Daryl’s way of trying to open up a closed book? Rick found himself saying, “Yeah,” anyway.

“Will you tell it straight?” Daryl said, “I don’t like it when you lie t’me.”

“I wouldn’t—" Rick stopped himself before he could finish. He wanted to say that he wouldn’t lie to Daryl, that he always told the him the truth, the whole truth, because he trusts Daryl with it. However, he realized that, in itself, would be a lie. There was plenty Rick was willing to withhold from Daryl. Even further, he had played quite the prolific lie-spinner over the course of the evening. Although, it was hard to hold himself to the fire for it because, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what the truth even was.

“I’ll do my best,” Rick said.

“Nah. I need yer word,” Daryl said. The lazy murmur he spoke in made it sound plain and simple. He was asking a serious question and wanted a serious answer. Why bother asking if Rick wasn't planning on giving him the truth?

“Fine,” Rick found himself say. It surprised him. “But only one,” he quickly added. He wasn’t about to be interrogated under an oath of truth. Daryl could ask his question, whatever it was, and that was that. No more on the subject. 

Daryl cracked an eye enough to peak at Rick from the corner of it. When he saw Rick looking back at him, he quickly shut his eyes and settled deeper into the couch. He was uncomfortable—embarrassed, even. Rick found it oddly comforting to be on the other side of the flushed face.

“So…” Daryl said. He turned his head toward the wall. “So, if—if you’re not gay…why did—how did you…” he trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Rick cut in, unwilling to suffer through Daryl’s search for the proper words. “I don’t understand it any more than you do.” It was an admission of guilt and Rick knew it but it was pointedly limited. He wouldn't put his confirmation behind any more than the bare minimum. It was better if Daryl didn't know the severity of the situation. 

“But I don’t understand it at all,” Daryl said, looking out the corner of his eye again.

Rick nodded. 

“You know I’m not hiding a woman’s parts or nothin’ under these jeans, right?”

Rick nodded again. The heat was beginning to rise to his head as his heart picked up pace. He didn’t like this. Talking about it only made it real. Daryl sat up proper and turned his head halfway toward Rick.

“You know I ain’t nothin’ like a woman, in any sorta way.” This time it wasn’t a question. Rick chewed his bottom lip and kept quiet.

“Your head’s all fucked up. You got the wrong idea ‘bout something from somewhere. Bein’ with me ain’t like being with Lori, or any other of your old girlfriends. I ain’t soft or pretty or—or anything like that. Your head’s got me built up into somethin’ I ain’t,” Daryl said. He glanced up at Rick now with those dark, brooding eyes that filled his wrongest visions. His lips were pulled back into a tight line. Rick wanted to see them soften.

He turned his eyes to the floor. “My head _is_ fucked up,” Rick said. It was a splintery whisper, like fragmented glass.

Daryl disappeared back in on himself and the room was quiet again. Rick watched as Daryl sat there, his mind a million miles away, as he processed the new information he had been granted. It was awful to watch Daryl think about him. He wanted inside his head. He wanted to know exactly what the thoughts were, but even more so, he wanted to erase them from existence. Though, he supposed Daryl had probably been wanting the same thing but the other way around. Rick wished for that too. A complete and total memory wipe for them both. They could start over and maybe next time they wouldn’t end up in such an ugly place.

“Kiss me then,” Daryl said.

Rick’s heart stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Kiss me,” Daryl said, with conviction this time. It sounded like a challenge. He turned his head toward Rick and their eyes locked. There was something familiar there in his gaze that Rick didn’t dare speculate on. Rick opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. The intensity in Daryl’s eyes had pushed the air out of his lungs. He was scared to breathe.

“Your head’s not on right. We’ll fix it. You’ll kiss me ’n’ realize it ain’t nothin’ like what you’ve been picturin’. Come on. Kiss me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Rick said. His ears were ringing.

“No it ain’t, it’s damn genius. Come over here.” Daryl motioned him over to the center couch cushion.

“No! I’m not doin’ that, Daryl. No!” His mind had taken off without him. The thoughts arose just as fast as he was able to push them down. 

“Don’t make me get up, man,” Daryl said, already propping himself in order to push up off the couch. 

Rick sprang to his rescue with an outstretched hand. “No! Stay where you are,” he said, “Fuck, you fuckin’—" Rick huffed indignantly and moved over a seat cushion, thus bridging the gap between them. Rick’s body was oriented toward Daryl, but he only had one knee balancing him on the edge of the couch while he stood on the other leg. He was half committed to the spot and more than prepared to make a quick getaway. Every part of his being wanted to look away but Daryl’s open face and focused gaze held him in place. He was trapped with a look.

“Okay, now kiss me,” Daryl said.

“Will you stop fuckin’ saying that? I’m not gonna kiss you.”

“Don’t make it weird, jus’ do it.”

“No!”

Daryl reached up, grabbed Ricks shirt, and yanked him in. The sudden action caught Rick off guard and threw his balance. All he could do was catch himself before he fell into Daryl’s broken body. He ended up arched over the top of Daryl, his arms barely balancing between him the back of the couch and the armrest. His face was only inches from Daryl’s and as soon as he realized it, the few inches disappeared and Daryl’s mouth was pressed up hard against Rick’s. Daryl arched his back and pulled Rick down so that their lips collided once, twice—it was rough and brutish, and yes, not at all what Rick had ever pictured. It hardly felt like a kiss at all. Rick tried to soften himself to it and it caused Daryl to soften too. He released most of the grip on Rick’s shirt and used his hold to guide Rick’s body instead of force it.

Daryl held the third kiss longer than the previous. He began to move his lips against Rick’s, although both men were careful not to let any sounds from their connection escape into the room where they would be echoed back at them.

When they parted again, Daryl whispered against Rick’s lips a command: “Open yer mouth.”

Rick obeyed immediately. His mouth fell open and Daryl kissed him again. This time it was wet and sloppy. Their teeth knocked together more than once. Daryl’s tongue forced its way up into Rick’s mouth as if it had a bone to pick with Rick’s tongue. They fought viciously, though on Rick’s end it was mostly self-defense. There was so much spit between the two of them, Rick felt he might drown in it. Between the saliva, sweat, and leftover flavor of corned beef in Daryl’s mouth, the taste of salt overwhelmed him. When they finally parted, Daryl pushed Rick away and quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Rick fell back on the couch onto his ass. His face and mind was plagued by disbelief at what just happened. 

Daryl, on the other hand, was back to his usual state: looking elsewhere, caught somewhere between focus and disinterest, watching Rick from the corner of his eye. Rick used a thumb to wipe away whatever residue was left over from their—mouth war? Spit fight?—and stared blankly as he tried to sort through his own head. 

“Well?” Daryl said, “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

“No,” Rick answered. It was the truth. Rick had tried to never imagine kissing Daryl, but in all the times he had, he never once played out like that. He glanced up and found Daryl staring at him incredulously. He looked offended. 

“No?” he asked. 

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“Well, yeah, I just…” he said, “Nevermind. Whatever.”

A smile split across Rick’s face. “Are you upset, Dixon? What am I supposed to say? You’re terrible,” he said.

Daryl whipped his head around, eyes wide and jaw slack. 

The look on his face turned Rick’s amusement into full-on laughter. “Oh my god…was it that bad on purpose? I really hope so, ‘cause otherwise…” Rick said, unable to get the words out around his devolving hysterics.

“Otherwise, what?!” Daryl demanded. His face had become pink. The sight of his embarrassment only made Rick laugh harder.

“Otherwise, I feel real bad for anyone else who’s lived through that!”

“Aw, fuck you, man.” Daryl smacked Rick in the gut with the back of his hand. “Quit your bullshittin’.”

“You—You just—You did it all wrong!” Rick choked out, “Like you never done it before in your life! You ‘bout broke my teeth!” He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

“I’ve done it before! Plenty of times, you ass! Like you’re any better!” Daryl smacked him again, even harder this time. 

Rick finally curbed his laughter. The last of it petered out and he regained control of his breathing. “Oh my god,” he said, wiping a tear away, “I am so, _so_ much better at it.”

“Go on then, big man, prove it,” Daryl said with crossed arms and a boyish frown.

Rick looked at him questioningly. Daryl shrugged. Rick wasn’t sure if it was because Daryl requested it, because the laughing fit had made him feel light and giddy, or because they were just doing the very same thing, but for some reason, in that moment, Rick wasn’t afraid to kiss Daryl. The thought of closing the distance between them and engaging in such an intimate act didn’t garner the same anxiety it had earlier. Instead it felt—platonic. Lighthearted. Almost like it was a joke. It didn’t mean anything—or at least it didn’t have to. Rick shrugged too. 

Rick scooted closer to him until his shin was pressed up against Daryl’s thigh. He put his right arm around the back of the couch. Before he could talk himself out of it, or stop to think of the repercussions, he leaned in, cupped Daryl’s cheek in his hand, and pressed his lips against Daryl’s. Their kiss was tender, like softened butter.

He moved his lips slowly, experimentally. The gentleness of his touch caused the tension in Daryl’s body to evaporate and—Rick swore he could feel it—he leaned into the kiss, ever so slightly. Rick felt the blissful warmth of Daryl’s lips melding with his own and it made his heart soar. The sounds of them kissing were unavoidable now—they could both hear it, the gentle, wet noises their lips produced in their contact—after a few seconds, Daryl’s moistened his lips with the swipe of his tongue, and that only made them louder. The sounds of it vibrated through Rick and right into his lower abdomen. He could feel a familiar heat rising up inside of him and he couldn’t help but wonder if Daryl felt it too. _No Rick, don’t go there,_ he chastised himself, _it’s not like that._

Could he make it like that?

He licked his lips. When his tongue darted out of his mouth to do so, it caught Daryl’s lower lip in passing. In response, Daryl’s lips parted expectantly. It was only a fraction of an inch that he moved, but it made Rick’s dick twitch in hopeful anticipation. _It’s just a joke, remember?_ He did remember, though he didn’t much care to.

Rick ran his hand from Daryl’s face back into his mess of unwashed hair. His fingers curled loosely around the strands. Their mouths moved in easy tandem with one another, both slick with spit and hot from the shared contact. When Rick flicked his tongue out against Daryl’s lip again, his jaw went slack. Daryl was practically holding the door open for Rick and inviting him inside. Rick took him up on the offer and entered the warmth of Daryl’s mouth. Daryl’s tongue welcomed him in with tentative contact. Their kiss deepened and finally, they were making out in earnest, tilted heads, open mouths, and dancing tongues. _It doesn’t mean anything._ Or maybe it did. 

Daryl’s hand dropped onto Rick’s ankle. It electrified Rick. Daryl’s open hand against the skin where Rick’s pants didn’t quite reach, the lewd noises the two of them were creating in an otherwise silent house, and the feeling of Daryl’s tongue pressed up against his as they moved in slow, rolling waves with one another was too much for Rick to handle. His dick was hardening fast. He knew it was wrong but reason had left the room. Rick’s better judgement had evaporated until he thought of nothing but _Daryl, Daryl, Daryl_. He was utterly lost to it: Rick could no longer deny what Daryl did to him—the evidence of it was there between his legs, hot, demanding, and far too constrained. If things ended this way, if the kiss broke off, and Rick was torn away from this—this ecstasy, only to be left with a broken heart and an aching cock, he couldn’t take it. Rick needed Daryl, all of him, _tonight._ He sighed though his nose in an exasperated, desperate sort of way, leaned in closer, and picked up the pace and pressure of their kiss. 

He let his hand fall from the tangle of hair to Daryl’s thigh, dangerously close to the only part of Daryl that Rick never dared imagine. He expected Daryl to push him away, end it before it turned into something more, but Daryl kept his attention focused on matching the intensity of Rick’s kiss, their mouths still open and moving against one another, tongues twisted together in perfect, filthy harmony. Encouraged by Daryl’s passive acceptance, Rick took another gamble. He ran his hand over Daryl’s thigh, to it’s innermost side—where his firm hand was barely two inches inches shy of Daryl’s most private area—and squeezed.

A muffled whimper escaped from depths of Daryl’s throat as his hips twitched upward. Was he trying to shake him off, or edge him closer? He pulled back and their mouths were separated. Rick rested his forehead against Daryl’s and took the pause in momentum as a chance to catch his breath. Both men were breathing hard and erratic. It sounded inappropriate, sinful even, in the too-still house.

“Rick—” Daryl said in that gruff drawl of his, voice soft and breathy.

 _Oh god._ His stomach fell. _Don’t talk. Please don’t._ This was it: the moment the rug would be pulled out beneath him, all his hopes dashed to oblivion, his fantasies crumbled like castle walls against heavy artillery, delivered in a single blow from the mouth of his beloved. He wanted to run, fight, take it all back, try it a different way. Anything, anything but this. _Please. Don’t say it. I can’t take it._ He leaned in and tried to close the gap between their mouths, start their kiss anew. If they just traveled backwards, maybe there would again be hope of moving forward—at the very least, it would stop Daryl from talking. 

Only his intentions were anticipated and Daryl turned his head away. Rick rested his forehead against Daryl’s temple now. A pathetic whine was building up in the back of Rick’s throat. Maybe if he begged, Daryl would keep his mouth shut. 

“Rick—” Daryl said.

A car alarm went off in the distance. Their breathing stopped dead in their throats. The growls of the walkers outside the house rose in unison as their attention was diverted to the new stimulus. The next few moments were a flurry of action. Rick sprang to his feet, focused and ready.

“This is our chance!” he said.

“What’s the plan?” said Daryl.

“We need a car.” Rick turned in a circle, then back around again. “Maybe they left one behind. Where do people keep car keys?”

“Check that cabinet thing!” Daryl pointed. 

Rick was there in an instant. He looked through each of the drawers frantically. In less than ten seconds, he produced a set of keys. 

“They’re for a Ford,” he said.

“Check the garage!”

Rick grabbed his axe and took off down the hall. A dozen or so deafening cracks of metal against wood rang out before he broke through the boarded up door and make it inside. Not but a minute later, he was back into the living room and wearing a victorious grin.

“She’s there. Tank’s full. We’re gettin’ out of here.”


	4. Bits and Pieces

The next month and a half came to pass mostly without incident. Rick and Daryl had driven back to the prison with nothing to show for all the panic their disappearance caused. Even though they didn’t arrive until late, they were met at the gates that night by a swarm of confused, concerned faces that only worsened when they saw Daryl’s poorly splinted leg. 

Rick pulled Daryl out of the car himself. However, he only walked with him a few paces before he passed him off to Maggie and Beth as he rattled off the details of the injury to Hershel. They lead him inside and Hershel promised to fix him up proper, so Rick nodded and left them to it. 

Rick ignored the barrage of questions from the others and headed for his cell. By the time he laid down in his bed, he was about ready to pass out, but of course sleep didn't come easy. The sounds of Daryl’s tortured screams echoing down the halls as his bone was reset kept him up for a long while. Even after the cries finally stopped, his racing thoughts made it so it was many hours before sleep came. When Rick finally did drift off, it was the memory of Daryl’s salt-flavored mouth pressed up against his that was spinning through his sleep-deprived head. 

The next morning, and for many mornings after that, Rick attempted to pick up his normal routine but the thoughts were worse than they had ever been and they were always on Daryl. His mood swung wildly: some mornings he was bitter and angry. All his mental energy was spent shredding himself for every word, every action he chose that day while trapped in that little suburban house surrounded by walkers. It was the longest, most hateful game of _if only_ Rick had ever played. Other mornings, he’d wander out to the garden feeling fulfilled and at peace with the world in a strange sort of way. _At least now I know,_ he’d think to himself. On those mornings, he’d allow himself to play in a fantasy world constructed by false ignorance. He’d pretend, just for a little while, that things had ended up differently or could still. In a way, he was giving some slack to the tight leash he had on his mind for so long. 

His favorite fantasy, the one he revisited more than any of the others, was a continuation on that perfect piece of reality that he had been permitted, only this time it was with two major edits to the script: the car alarm doesn’t go off—not when it did, at least—and Daryl never pulls away.

On the sixth day since they had returned, while he was out tending to his garden, Rick went back to that private place he kept locked away in his imagination and for the first time, saw the story to the end. 

Daryl breathes raggedly into Rick’s mouth when he feels the squeeze on his inner thigh. Rick feels brave. He’s encouraged by Daryl’s willingness—daresay eagerness—being expressed through their progressively messy kiss. Rick’s mouth is covered in spit. It’s a mix of both him and Daryl, without any way of telling what belongs to who. His mouth is a sopping, overused mess and it’s so, so satisfying to know that Daryl’s the cause of it. Rick drops his arm from the back of the couch onto Daryl’s shoulders. He wraps a firm hand around the back of Daryl’s neck and pulls him in tighter. Daryl follows him willingly, and tries to pull Rick closer in just the same way, a fumbling hand tangling in the cloth of Rick’s shirt, holding him there with conviction, and in Rick’s mind, Daryl’s silently begging, _please, please don’t pull away, I want this too._

Rick’s dick is throbbing with desire, a pure carnal need that courses through his whole body and makes his head spin. He forfeits himself to it. He’s ready to see this through. Rick’s hand climbs upward along the thigh it’s gripping onto for life and, _oh god_ , there he is—Daryl—a hot bulge underneath a layer of jean material. Daryl is just as hard as Rick is. The moment his hand makes contact, Daryl’s hips twitch against it as if to say _fuck yeah, touch me there._ So Rick does. He runs his hand over the solid hill and it makes Daryl’s breathing even more erratic until it’s too much for him to maintain their kiss. Daryl breaks free from Rick’s mouth and turns his attention toward Rick’s hand. He puts his hand over the top of Rick’s and pushes him down harder, harder and _god_ , the pressure's not enough for him. It’s not enough for him. _He’s asking for more—give it to him, Rick._

Rick latches onto a spot on his exposed neck as he palms Daryl’s cock through his jeans along with the rhythm of his skipping hips. Rick sucks the soft skin on Daryl’s neck into his mouth. It tastes like sweat and filth but Rick doesn’t care. To him, the flavor’s better than anything else he’d ever tasted because it’s _Daryl_ and having him coating his tongue and filling his nose was a fantastic pleasure that Rick never expected to have. Daryl’s head rolls to the side to give Rick better access. A couple strands of hair are brushed away off the nape of Daryl’s neck and Rick kisses his way up the newly exposed baby-soft skin until he reaches the ear. He sucks the lobe of it into his mouth and a Daryl lets a deep, broken moan slip past whatever’s left of his defenses. The raw honesty of the sound fed right into reinforcing the hardness of Rick’s cock. Daryl had turned into a desperate, wanting mess under his touch—he loved this. They both want—no, need—more. _Give it to him, Rick._

Rick is emboldened. He drops his attention to undoing Daryl’s belt. 

“Aw, fuck yeah,” Daryl says in that rough voice of his that speaks directly to the filthiest parts of Rick’s head. He shifts his hips up to try and make the job easier. He’s so ready, so confident in this, it makes Rick’s head fuzzy. He feels drunk with it.

Rick moves fast. The familiar clinks of metal against metal come and pass as Rick works the leather out of the clasp. He gets it free, pulls the belt out of the loops of Daryl’s pants in one smooth tug, and tosses it across the room. He undoes the button on Daryl’s jeans and pulls the fly down and now he’s close, so unbelievably close to reaching that part of Daryl he wants so badly to see, touch, taste, _feel_. He wasn’t ever meant to be this close. His confidence evaporates. 

He glances up to Daryl for assurance but Daryl’s face is open, permissive, lustful, and Rick knows there’s no reason to be nervous anymore. Daryl’s wet mouth hangs open as ragged breaths pull in and out of his laboring body. His face is flushed. His pupils are dilated and his darkened eyes are pouring over with passion. Daryl is overflowing with pure-hearted, sensuous need, and it’s for Rick. _You did this to him,_ Rick’s head says, and for the first time it carries no negative connotation. For the very first time in a long time, everything is good, the world is right, and all is as it oughta be. Daryl nods him forward. Rick feels like he’s choking on his heart.

Rick shoves his hand down his pants, past the jeans and the cotton boxer briefs, and _holy shit_ there it is—Daryl. He’s hot, thick, and his hardness doesn’t give an inch under Rick’s resolute touch. Rick wraps his hand around him and Daryl moans in the back of his throat behind tightly clenched lips. His head rolls back and he closes his eyes. He’s leaving Rick to do as he please, knowing that Rick’ll treat him right and make him feel good. Daryl trusts him. He’s giving himself—all of himself—to Rick. It occurs to Rick that maybe in this fantasy, he’s imaging more than just sex. It’s only a whisper in the back of his head but as soon as he makes it out, he knows it’s true, and that this piece is just as vital, if not even more so, than the rest of it. _He’s in love with you, too._

Rick’s yanked back into reality. He had been leaned up against a shovel, staring blankly at the corner patch of his garden for who knows how long. Rick was grateful that he pulled himself out of it when he had. _What’s the matter with you? What was next, Rick? You gonna suck him off? Fantasize about Daryl’s dick down your throat?_ Rick’s breathing hitched as the image of it crossed his mind. Maybe he would have.

Not all parts of his fantasy had stayed in his head, however. His impossible hardness, along with his pounding heart and heavy breathing, had followed him back into the real world. Rick threw his shovel down and glanced around. Nobody was up yet. His eyes landed on the toolshed. It was disgusting and inappropriate (though Rick was like that most days now, wasn’t he?) but he was lead to it by his neglected dick. By the time he slipped through the door he was already undoing his belt. It was barely enough room for him to stand in but it was enough. He undid his pants, pulled out his painfully hard dick, and stroked its length. As soon as his hand was providing the sort of stimulation he so badly needed, his mind wandered back to the place it had just left—Daryl coming completely undone under Rick’s touch, his throaty moans, his chiseled form writhing as he approached his climax…

The closer Rick was to his own end, the wronger his thoughts turned. When he finally came in that little toolshed, he was thinking of licking up Daryl’s cum from the length of his softening cock. In Rick’s mind, it didn’t taste all that different than the inside of Daryl’s mouth. Salty. Hot. Wet. While he was frantically searching for something to clean to clean up the cum spread all over his hand, Rick had a pretty hard time denying that he liked the idea of it.

After that day, Rick thought it best if he started sleeping in. 

Daryl was laid up for a while, which made avoiding him all the easier for Rick. He tried to always look busy, though he knew he wasn’t fooling Daryl given the irritated glares he received whenever their eyes accidentally passed over one another. 

Even after Daryl was up and about, it was only while Hershel was resting because Daryl couldn’t get anywhere without borrowing the crutches. Rick would often see him wandering about the courtyard in the afternoon, usually following Carol around like a helpless puppy. A sorry pang in his chest would sneak up on Rick every now and then whenever he saw Daryl looking frustrated and unhappy with his own uselessness. He was so bad at being dependent on others. He just wasn’t made for it. But as soon as Rick realized that his thoughts had turned back to Daryl, he would shove them down and turn his attention toward other matters. It was simpler that way.

Rick told himself he wasn’t avoiding Daryl, he was only keeping his distance. It was intended to give Daryl the space he needed, that was all. As soon as Daryl was ready, he could come to Rick and they would talk through whatever they needed to in order to get back to the familiarity of friendship. At least that’s what Rick told himself.

In reality, the first time Rick caught sight of Daryl walking over in his direction purposefully, a steely look in his eyes and crutches supporting him, Rick quickly turned in the other direction and made away. As it turned out, the perks of Daryl’s broken leg helped Rick out more than he anticipated: over the next week he reaffirmed that it’s amazingly easy to outrun a cripple. It only took a couple of failed attempts to catch up with Rick before Daryl gave up altogether. He was too proud a man to keep hobbling after Rick when he clearly wasn’t wanted. From then on, he resorted back to his glares and irritated huffs whenever Rick spared him more than a second of acknowledgement.

About a month in, Carol caught Rick alone and asked why he had been avoiding Daryl. She said that it seemed to be upsetting him. Rick feigned surprise, offered an excuse about how he’d been busy, and said something along the lines of, “I don’t know what’s got in his head, but I’ll be sure to talk to him.” Carol seemed pleased enough with that, and even though Rick never did talk to Daryl, she must have took his word for it because it was never mentioned again. Of the whole group, Carol was the only one who stated her concern. Nobody else paid enough attention to the two of them to notice that anything was out of the ordinary. 

Whenever Rick and Daryl did get pushed into close proximity, either through passing each other in the C-Block hall or during a group meeting to discuss coming plans, they would largely ignore one another. Every now and then in their passing, Rick would smile at him, pat his shoulder, and offer up a canned phrase like, “Glad to see you up and about,” or, “Thanks for hanging in there; you’ll be better in no time.” No one else noticed his falsity but Daryl saw right through it. He would “pft,” at him in response with narrowed eyes and a pencil-line mouth. 

So, six weeks went by in that manner, with nothing exchanged between them but passing acknowledgements and Daryl’s dirty looks. Rick knew he should quit the games and talk to Daryl before things stretched on too long and this strange territory they had entered into became the new normal. But the longer he waited to break the ice, the more impossible the task seemed. Rick had spent so long thinking of what he was going to tell Daryl, he practically had it memorized. _You were right,_ he’d say, _It wasn’t what I imagined. I don’t know what was going on in my head but it’s fixed itself. I’m not thinking like that anymore. I hardly was to begin with. It got blown out of proportion. You’re my brother, Daryl. My brother. Understand? I don't see you as anything other than that._ Daryl probably wouldn’t say anything. He would watch Rick’s face closely while he spoke, and once he was done, Daryl’d give him a short nod, walk away, and that would be the end. They’d go back to normal and Rick could leave this mess behind him. After so much time had passed though, Rick couldn’t bring himself to raise the conversation. He couldn’t tell what Daryl had been thinking for all those weeks, he only knew that he was angry. Maybe Daryl wouldn’t forgive him so easily. Maybe bringing the topic up would only make it worse. Rick had no idea what to do. He was trapped inside his own head—it overwhelmed him and cornered him into inaction. By the time the six week mark rolled around, Rick still hadn’t spoken to Daryl for more than five minutes total. It was then that Daryl received permission from Hershel to ditch the crutches and most of his bandages.  He was free to walk around the prison, free to corner Rick whenever he liked.

Daryl didn’t though. He didn’t track Rick down, didn’t chase after him, didn’t try and catch him alone. He did what he had been doing: whatever he damn well pleased, while letting Rick run frantic circles trying to avoid him. Now Rick was worried. He had been counting on Daryl to be the one to make first contact but it seemed like Daryl had no interest whatsoever in doing so. Daryl’s irritation turned into quiet amusement once he realized he had gained the upper hand. It was entertaining to watch Rick bend over backwards just to avoid him, especially given that Daryl could shift the tide at any moment by chasing him down and all Rick’s trouble would have been for nothing. 

Rick wasn’t stupid. He knew it had become a game for Daryl. He could see Daryl’s expression whenever Rick ran off to do some urgent, made up task. He noticed when Daryl started purposefully drawing the response out of Rick, too. 

Rick would be feeding Judith as he stood in the main hall. Daryl would saunter up and stand right beside Rick, close enough that he could feel the heat coming off his body. He’d peer over Rick’s shoulder at Judith say something like, “Cute kid.” Rick would respond back plainly, “Yeah, she is.” Then he’d mutter something about letting her get some sun and disappear outside. If he looked back, he imagined he’d see Daryl’s cocky gaze following him out the door. 

Other times, when they gathered for meals, Daryl would receive his plate of food and sit at the table right beside Rick. When he sat, he’d spread his legs out wide to invade Rick’s space and so that their knees would delicately brush over one another. Of course, like the child he was, Rick would jump at the casual contact and quickly conclude his meal, by claiming he’d had enough and offering up whatever was left of his portion to Carl. He’d hurry off to his cell, shaking his head at himself the whole time over.

Whenever any of the group had to pass along a message or needed to fetch Rick, Daryl would jump up to do it for them, just so that he could track Rick down and hustle over yelling, “Rick—!” When he called him, it was loud, demanding, and with a notable pause before Daryl would finish the rest of his sentence with “—so and so’s lookin’ for you.” Rick figured out pretty early on it was because seeing Daryl quickly approaching while shouting his name would make the all the color drain from Rick’s face. Apparently, the look of fear that Daryl could so easily force out of him was _entertaining_ to the shithead.

Two weeks later, two months since their run, Rick nearly worked up the nerve to start a real conversation with Daryl. He had been mulling over it for the hundredth time that morning when he walked into C-Block looking for Beth and Judith and instead found Daryl sitting on his sleeping roll up in the perch adding new fletchings to his arrows. Rick’s step faltered, but he overcame his hesitation and walked in. He called out for Beth.

“She’s not in here,” Daryl said. The walls were echoey. The place was empty, all except for Daryl—and now Rick. “If you’re lookin’ for the little asskicker, she took her outside with Hershel.” He pointed toward the front with the feathered end of an arrow.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks,” Rick said. Only he didn’t turn around and head for the others. He kept walking further in, toward Daryl. He didn’t stop at the base of the perch, either. He started up the steps. The sound of his boots against the metal startled Daryl’s gaze up from his work. He watched Rick come up the steps, first one, then a few. Rick paused and looked at Daryl’s face. He looked surprised, expectant, interested in what was about to come. Rick held his gaze for a second too long though and Daryl dropped his eyes back down to the arrow he was working on.

“Whatcha want?” Daryl said.

“How’s the leg?” Rick asked. It was easy, at least to start with. He came up another step. He was nearly to the top now. 

“Fine,” Daryl said. He kicked it out from underneath him so Rick could see it. There was only a single bandage wrapped around it now. It seemed like he could move it without problem. 

“Good, good,” Rick said. He took another cautious step up the stairs. Only two more to go. Rick knew Daryl wasn’t going to run off, yet Rick was approaching him like he was trying to have a conversation with a frightened possum. Daryl noticed.

“If you’re comin’ up, then come up,” he snapped.

Rick froze. His confidence dissipated and suddenly he wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He started backing up.

“Actually, I gotta find Beth,” he said as he descended the stairs backwards. “She’s had Judith all day. I gotta give her a chance to breathe—"

“Pft. Figures,” Daryl said under his breath, focusing all his attention on properly attaching the fletching. Rick pretended he didn't hear.

“I’m glad your leg’s doing better. That’s—That’s real good news.”

“Shut up.”

Rick looked to the side. He thought he should say something, but he couldn’t imagine what the right words were. It would be easier to say nothing at all, avoid the conversation like he had been doing all this time. Rick nodded, turned away, and headed out the door to the courtyard, leaving Daryl alone up in the perch, scowling down at his trembling hands. 

Nothing of their short interaction impacted the rest of the day. Rick kept his distance, Daryl gave him dirty looks whenever their eyes met, and still, no one in the group noticed the bitter and growing tension between them. Daryl was the first to disappear for bed once evening rolled around. Rick did the same a few hours later, only once a couple others had turned in and filled out the wing. When he finally laid down in his bunk, he had already run through their interaction a few dozen times and entertained all the ways he could have done it differently. By the time sleep finally came, his mind had turned to other things, like what it would be like to sleep up in the perch with Daryl. Daryl's musky smell surrounding him. His solid body pressed up against Rick. His breath on the back of his neck. His soft snores filling his ears and head. The comforting warmth of the shared blankets pulled all around them. Nothing on his mind but _Daryl, Daryl, Daryl_ and how good it would feel to have him. Nothing at all but Daryl.

It was before dawn that Rick first stirred, thanks to an aching bladder. Rick rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes and opened them up to the well-known sight of the bottom of the empty upper bunk. Taped to it was a scrap of paper with a messy scrawl.

“I’m gone. You’ll have to come get me.”

 _Shit._ Rick threw the covers back, jumped out of bed, and took off toward the perch. He flew up the stairs and at the top he found an empty sleeping roll and no bow or arrows in sight.


	5. Wrapped Up and Splinted

It was still dark out. The morning sun was likely hours from peaking over the horizon but that didn’t stop him. Rick was flying down the road, doing fifty down residential streets and blowing over wandering walkers like they were no more an obstacle than traffic cones. He beat his palm against the grip on the steering wheel until his wrist ached. Then, he beat his fist against the grip until the skin on his knuckles split and started pouring blood. The whole time he drove, he cursed himself and the shit-for-brains Daryl Dixon who thought it okay to take off alone, in the middle of the night, on his motorcycle, and with a still-healing leg. 

Rick didn’t even know where he would go. If Daryl really didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Rick could search to the end of the world, and probably would try, but it would be for nothing. He’d never see Daryl again. But if Daryl didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t have left a note. No, he wanted Rick to find him. So he’d go somewhere they both knew. With that in mind, Rick headed for the little suburban house they had been trapped in so long ago. If this was about what Rick suspected it was—the accidental confession and the months of awkward non-interactions that followed—the house was the only logical place. Daryl would go back to where it started.

Rick flew around the corner and down the appropriate street. It was amazingly deserted compared to how packed it had been. There were no walkers in sight besides the slaughtered ones still rotting in the street from their last visit. There had been no reason for the ones still walking to hang around. 

Rick saw it—the house with the boarded up windows. The garage door was pulled shut now, but they had left it open in their hurried departure. His anger subsided. A relieved sigh pushed it’s way out Rick’s nose; tears sprang up, but he pinched his nose and pushed them back. Rick’s gut had been right. Daryl was here. 

Rick reversed the car into the driveway, parked it, and pulled the key out of the ignition. He sat there for several minutes rubbing his face, thinking, trying to prepare himself for the conversation that was waiting for him inside. The words that had been rehearsed were lost now. The longer that Rick considered the situation, the more nauseated he became. Fear, along with it’s brother anger, built themselves up in his chest. A large part of him wanted to start up the car again and drive away. _It would solve the problem,_ he thought, _It would make all this go away._ But the thought of never seeing Daryl again only made Rick’s gut churn harder. He would never forgive himself if he let Daryl disappear on him like this.

Frustration exploded inside of him. He beat the steering wheel and returned to his endless string of nonsensical curses and resentful comments meant for someone who couldn’t even hear them. Rick was angry. Angry that the situation turned out the way it had, that he hadn’t done it differently, that he could no longer avoid what he so desperately wanted to—he was angry that Daryl forced his hand and put him in this position. Daryl didn’t chase him down or put his back to the wall, but he might as well have.

“He should have just fucking _left it alone_. Why couldn’t he just _leave it be_? The fucking jackass, _he said he would forget it._ He fucking _said_ he would, he _said_ —”

He was ready for a fight. Rick popped the car door, threw it open, and slammed it closed once he was out, loud enough that Daryl would be able to hear his anger from inside. Rick stormed up to the front door and beat on it—bang, bang, bang. It rattled the windows. 

“I _suggest_ you come get in the fucking car!” Rick shouted. He knocked again, even louder this time—bang, bang, bang. “I know you’re in there. Don’t make me come in and _drag_ your stupid ass out.” 

Silence. Rick strode over to the garage door and pounded on that, too. “I mean it Daryl. I’m not playing any more fucking games with you on this. We’re going home. _Now_.” Nothing. Rick looked around—maybe he was missing something. Maybe Daryl wasn’t here at all and he had been shouting at an empty house on a deserted street. Could the garage door have fallen closed? He bent down and yanked on it. It didn’t budge.

“Daryl, open the door!” 

Rick heard a rattle on the other side, the sound of a lock being undone. He waited for the door to be pulled up—he would jump Daryl, grab him by the collar and drag him to the car, no matter how hard be fought or how loudly he bitched—Rick was taking him home whether he was willing or not.

Only Daryl didn’t open the door. He was trying to force Rick inside. _He’s planned it out this way._ Rick stooped over and grabbed the door himself. He pulled it open just enough for him to slip under. Then, he let it fall closed behind him. 

Rick squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkened room. First he saw the outline of Daryl’s bike standing off to the side.  Then he saw movement. It passed from the shadows into the open doorway that lead back into the house. Rick could only make out his silhouette, but the crossbow in his hand and the particular way he moved was immediately recognizable—he found him.

“Daryl—”

He disappeared though the doorway. Rick took off after him. On instinct, Rick turned left and headed out toward the living room. Sure enough, Rick found the room dimly lit by haphazard candles. Daryl was sitting on the corner cushion where he had been laid up. He was perched up on his feet, bow aimed directly at Rick’s chest as he entered the room. Rick stopped dead. Immediately, his mind went to Shane. It wouldn’t be the first time his best friend turned on him.

“I know you’re not pointing that thing at me,” he said through a bitter scowl. His voice sounded more hurt than he meant it to. Daryl didn’t reply. Rick extended his hand and took a few cautious steps forward. “Lower it, Daryl. You’re not going to shoot me.”

“Not t’kill,” Daryl said. He adjusted his aim so it was pointed at Rick’s thigh. Rick tensed up. 

“You really wanna be doin’ this?” 

“You ain’t draggin’ me outta here. Not ’til we talk.”

“We’ll talk back at the prison.”

“We’ll talk here!” Daryl said. His finger was shaking against the trigger. 

Rick laughed in exasperated defeat. He turned his back to Daryl as he ran his thumb and forefinger over his tightly clenched eyes. There was no more avoiding it. Rick had decide how he was going to play this, and do it fast.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he chuckled. 

“Yeah I did,” Daryl said.

“Really? You had to run off on your own? You had to come back here, to where we could have died? You gotta point that stupid fuckin’ _thing_ at me?” Rick took a few quick strides toward him with half a mind to snatch Daryl’s bow and beat him with it. He stopped himself with only a few paces left between the two of them. 

Rick turned his scowl into an incredulous smile. He shook his head and laughed again. “If you wanted to talk, why didn’t you just talk?” he said.

“You wouldn’t have let me get a damn word out,” Daryl said. He kept his bow pointed steady at Rick’s thigh. The tension between them was suffocating. 

“Well here I am! You want to talk so bad, go ahead. _Talk._ ”

“You gonna be civil?” 

“Are _you_?” Rick said, closing the last of the space between him and Daryl’s spot on the couch. He towered over Daryl. “Why don’t you get that fuckin’ thing out of my face already?”

“Sit down!”

“I’ll remind you that the last time my friend pointed his weapon at me, I _stabbed_ him!”

Daryl pinched lips drew tighter. His whole body was shaking now, like he could barely contain the rage that was building up inside him. “I ain’t Shane!” he said. Still, he kept his bow raised. 

“I know,” Rick said. He moved too fast for Daryl to respond. In one quick motion he disarmed Daryl, turned, and chucked his bow against the back wall. It broke through the plaster with a deafening crack. Daryl sprung at him. 

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Daryl spit. He was hanging off Rick’s back, desperately clawing at his neck and shoulders as he tried to get him in a choke-hold. Rick swung around wildly, trying to shake Daryl off of him. He reached over his shoulder and tried to grasp onto something, anything to pull Daryl off. 

“Get the fuck off of me—”

“Fuck you!”

Daryl got him in the choke-hold. Rick backed up against the window. Daryl was crushed and the wind was knocked out of him. The small of his back was pushed painfully up against the window pane. Rick slammed backwards, once, twice, three times and Daryl dropped. He scampered on all fours between Rick’s legs and across the floor. By the time Rick had caught up with him, Daryl had made it back to his bow. He grabbed it, rolled onto his back, and fired a warning arrow. It wizzed past Rick in the space above his shoulder and beside his head. 

Rick stopped dead, red-faced and fuming.

“You could have hit me!” he shouted.

“If I wanted to hit you, I would’ve.”

He stared down at Daryl. Rick’s face was contorted in such a hideous expression of absolute rage that Rick saw fear briefly flicker across Daryl’s eyes. They stayed like that for a few moments, breathing heavily, Rick towering over Daryl with balled up fists, Daryl’s bow pointed right back at him, the room filled with mutual frustration and resentment for one another. Finally, Rick expelled a drawn out sigh though his scrunched up nose and turned away. 

“Get up.”

Daryl scrambled to his feet. He loaded up another arrow. When Rick glanced over his shoulder, he saw Daryl pointing his bow at Rick’s leg just as before. He sighed again. _Look where this has gotten you two._ Rick ran a hand through his hair. _Just rip the band aid off. Get it over with._ He rubbed an open palm against his face. _You know what to say. You prepared for this._ He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder.

“What do you _want_ , Daryl?”

“The truth,” he said.

“The truth about what?”

“‘Bout this.” 

Daryl didn’t have to specify any further than that. Rick knew the topic at hand was a long time coming. Bits and pieces of their last conversation flashed through Rick’s mind. The worst of it was what Rick remembered best. It was the things he would have rather never heard Daryl say that rattled around in his head incessantly. _Are you some kinda faggot or something? Your head’s all fucked up. Are you actually in love with me?_ When Daryl first realized what Rick had let slip out into the open, he had looked at him with disgust. Since then, he had looked at him only with anger. Rick’s stomach turned over itself. His heart hammered. His hands shook. After all he had been through, all the blood, carnage, and death, how was it that a conversation could still evoke a fear response? It was pathetic.

He turned back toward Daryl. Their eyes met and held one another. Daryl was shaking too—he couldn’t even hold his bow steady. It only unnerved Rick more. _He hates you_ , his mind whispered. 

“You were right,” Rick said. His voice lacked the necessary confidence. He tried to stand up a bit straighter, hold his head a little higher. All he had to do was fake it. 

Daryl rocked forward on his feet and then back again, like he was fighting the urge to move. There was a good amount of distance between them, a few feet. Rick appreciated the space. He silently willed Daryl to stay put. _Don’t walk away. Don’t come any closer. Just stay put._

“It wasn’t like what I imagined. My head—My head was fucked up. It’s better now though. It—fixed—It fixed itself.” Rick nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“You’re a liar,” Daryl said.

“What? No! I’m not—It’s not—I swear to you man, I wouldn’t do that to you. I didn’t. Not really. The whole thing—the whole thing just got blown out of proportion and I—”

“Liar!”

“Daryl—Daryl, you’re my brother. You’re my brother. I thought that we were gonna forget this, move on—”

Daryl threw his bow down. It skidded hard across the floor and into the corner of the room. He took a few quick deliberate steps toward Rick and the distance was closed between them. Daryl put his hands on Rick’s chest and shoved him as hard as he could. Rick stumbled backwards, struggling not to fall over from the momentum of it. 

“I asked for the truth!” Daryl close the distance and shoved him again. Rick caught his hand on the end table to steady himself. 

“I’m telling it!”

“No you ain’t!” Daryl pushed again and this time Rick fell backward onto his ass. He immediately pulled himself up. Daryl turned in the other direction, grabbed his bow up off the floor, and set to pacing in a circle through the middle of the living room.

“When’d you get to be such a fucking liar?” he said, “All I ever get from you now is _bullshit_. You been lying to me like it’s your new favorite hobby!”

“Daryl, I swear to you—”

“No! You just don’t get it, do you?” Daryl kicked the couch. He went right back to pacing the floor. With all the emotional turmoil pouring out of him, Daryl looked just as wild-eyed, heart-racing crazy as Rick probably did all those weeks ago.

“You ‘member that night after the farm fell? When we were camped out on the side of the road and you told us ‘bout what Jenner said? You walked off to take a piss and everyone started bad mouthin’ ya. Callin’ you a liar, sayin’ we can’t trust ya for nothin’! You know what I said, Rick? I said ‘Rick’s done alright by me.’ Ain’t nobody else said nothin’ to defend you, not your kid, not even your damn _wife_. But I’m startin’ to think I was wrong to ever trust a fuckin’ liar. Everyone else could see it but me. I was blind but now you’re showin’ me. That’s the _only_ truth I’ll ever get from you. The truth that you’re a fucking _liar_.”

Rick’s head was throbbing. It was like Daryl could see right through him. He didn’t know what the right words were, didn’t know how to sew up this wound between them. He looked to the ceiling. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“I’ve been telling you! I want the truth! Why’s that so fucking hard for you? You love to pretend like you’re a good guy, but it’s bullshit! I’ve seen you tell more truths to fucking strangers! You say all this shit about me, that I’m important to you ’n’ crap, but you can’t even give me honesty! It’s bullshit! I don’t see no point in hanging around if this is how it’s gonna be. If you’re gonna keep this up, tell me, and I’m gone.”

Rick put his hand to his head. His stance staggered—his heart was beating all wrong. The situation was making him lightheaded. He stumbled backward, blindly grasping for the couch behind him. Once his hand found it, he fell backward onto it. Daryl was staring at him confusedly, obviously failing to read the mess of thoughts flying through Rick’s head. Daryl was clueless. He had no idea how heavy this felt in Rick’s chest or how tired it made his whole body. Rick leaned forward, balanced his elbows on his knees, and buried his hands in his face. 

When he spoke, it was barely a whisper and further muffled by his hands. It’s a wonder Daryl heard him at all. “Last time I was honest, it landed us here,” he said.

“We ain’t here ‘cause of you being honest.”

Rick dropped his hands. They quickly found one another and he started wringing them together nervously. He knew he should look up, speak to Daryl and not the floor, but he couldn’t manage it. He was too much of a mess. 

“Why are we here then? What is this?” said Rick. He sounded like a child. He hated himself for it. Daryl, on the other hand, seemed to soften to the weakness of Rick’s voice.

“You been avoiding me,” Daryl said. For the first time, he wasn’t shouting, only speaking. Still, it carried the sting of accusation. 

It wasn’t a question, but Daryl waited on an answer. Rick’s eyes were vacant. He nodded—it was small, short, and he was far removed from it, but it was enough for Daryl to catch. 

Rick had released a bit of honesty out into the room. He _had_ been avoiding Daryl, for two whole months. It was obvious that was the case, and Daryl already had it figured out. If Rick was going to start being truthful, he had to start somewhere. Confirming something Daryl had already known was an easy place. It seemed enough to partially appease Daryl. Rick glanced up to see that Daryl had dropped his bow a bit. The terrible grimace had fallen away and Daryl’s face had become neutral, unreadable. When he saw Rick looking up at him, he returned the nod—a small gesture to show his satisfaction with Rick’s reply. 

“Why?” Daryl asked.

Rick squeezed his hands together hard enough for them to turn from pink to white. He shook his head and sighed.

“To avoid all this, I guess.” Rick glanced up at Daryl. He lowered his bow even more.

“Why?”

“Is that all you got to say? ‘Why, why, why…’” Rick scoffed and shook his head, his attention back on his hands. 

“Answer the question,” Daryl said as he took a forceful step toward Rick. His bow was raised again. 

Rick didn’t even know how to begin. He didn’t want to. Daryl was asking for the truth, but Rick knew that it would only make this whole mess worse. He shook his head again. 

“I don’t have to take this,” Rick said decisively. He pushed up off the couch and shoved his way past Daryl. Rick had enough. He headed toward the hall with the intention of walking out that garage door and kissing this conversation goodbye. Before he could even take three steps toward the hall though, the reverberating volume and broken edge to Daryl’s voice stopped Rick in his tracks.

“You don’t get to walk away from this! Not this time!” he said. Rick imagined it was meant to be a threat, but it sounded more like a plea. 

“If you leave me here, I ain’t comin’ back,” said Daryl. 

Rick could hear it in Daryl’s voice—he meant it. _He’s ready to leave you._ Rick whirled around, his anger reignited. _He hates you._ He stormed back into the room and straight into Daryl’s space. _He’s looking for an excuse._ Rick grabbed the bow from Daryl’s hand and threw it to the floor. _You disgust him._ And just like that, they were standing toe to toe, face to face, fists clenched, muscles clenched, both of them full of fury and indignation. 

“What, like you left with Merle? What’d you last out there, a day? You’ll come crawling back,” Rick sneered. The whisper was even more intense then the shouting. They could both feel it—and Daryl matched it.

“You wanna test it?” he said.

“If you’re so eager to go, _then go_.”

“That’s not what you want though, is it?”

“I want us to _move past_ this.”

“Then you oughta start with the truth.”

Rick didn’t think it was possible to be any angrier than he was, yet somehow Daryl found a way to push him closer to the edge. Every cell in his body wanted nothing more than to beat the living crap out of the man pushing up and staring back at him with that stupid stubborn mug. _If you knock him out, you could tie him up and get him home. Throw him in one of the cells. He can’t leave you then._ Rick shoved the idea down, but only after he entertained it for a second or two. Rick looked to the side. The broken eye contact helped to ease the tension, if only slightly.

“What do you want me to say?” he said, still scowling.

“The truth,” Daryl said.

“About _what_?” 

“That night!” Daryl jabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward the couch. “What was that? I have to know. You owe it to me.”

Rick looked up the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut tight. 

“You know, you keep askin’ for the truth, but you don’t really want it.”

“I do.”

“No—” Rick laughed and shook his head. He fixed his gaze on the floor. “—you don’t.”

“If I didn’t want it, why’d I be goin’ t’all this trouble jus’ t’get it? Just quit dancin’ and spit it out! I’m tired of this shit!”

“What do you want me to _say_ Daryl? You think that the truth is going to help this mess? It’s not! It will mess up everything! It—It’s not—” His voice was breaking up. Tears were rising and Rick fought desperately to hold them at bay. He couldn’t cry—not now, not in front of him. Rick ran a hand through his hair. He spun in a circle like he was looking for some sort of escape even though he knew there wasn’t any. It was impossible for him to keep still. “You want me to say that it made it worse? That your _stupid_ idea didn’t help anything and now I’m even more fucked up then before? ’Cause that’s the truth you’ve been asking for! That’s it, that’s the truth.”

Daryl didn’t say anything. He stood there sideways, arms dangling at his sides, shifting his weight unsteadily like he was getting ready to bolt. Rick expected he probably would. 

“My head’s not right. I’ve been—I haven’t been thinking the right way. I get to thinking, and…I go places I’m not meant to. That night didn’t help any. It made it worse. I—” Rick couldn’t believe what he was about to say. His whole body screamed out in terrified protest. “—I can’t deny anymore that I feel some sort of way about you.” 

“What sort of way?” 

Rick’s eyes darted over to Daryl’s face. Rick hadn’t been expecting a response like that. Daryl’s voice was soft, hesitant—and something else—it had a strange sort of lift to it. His expression was plain, but at the same time it seemed open, and nervous, too. It was unlike anything Rick had seen from Daryl before. Rick turned to face Daryl with his hands on his hips. He chewed his bottom lip.

“Well, I guess you put it best yourself that night,” Rick said.

“You’re in love with me?” 

Rick lifted his gaze to look at Daryl and their eyes connected. Daryl’s eyes were wide and clear. They were forthcoming, undisguised, honest. There wasn’t any hostility in them anymore—it had all melted away. Rick knew he must have been looking back at Daryl with the same sort of look. A strange feeling sprouted in Rick’s abdomen. It wasn’t the normal gut churning anxiety that he had come to be familiar with in these situations with Daryl. No, it was lighter than that, more pleasant, too. It was almost…fluttery. 

Rick nodded. It was a single quick nod at first, but as soon as he made the move, one nod turned into several. His eyes fell to the floor again. 

There it was, out in the open—the truth Daryl so violently demanded. It was surrounded by silence and tension. Rick could feel it filling the space around them and he knew it didn’t belong there. Part of him wanted to pull it back, undo the admission he had given, and put his thoughts back where they belong, inside his head. Another part of him was filled with relief; he was finally unburdened. 

 _What now?_ As soon as the thought occurred to him, Daryl took a cautious step toward him and closed what little gap there was between them. Rick’s breath caught in his throat. They were incredibly close, all but touching. Rick beat back the urge to match Daryl’s move and eliminate the space altogether. He kept his eyes focused on the floor and held as still as possible, like a deer caught in headlights. 

“I’ve been thinkin’ too,” Daryl said. 

Rick’s heart switched gears. The throaty sound of Daryl’s voice only inches from his ear ignited something deep inside him. Rick drew in a shaky breath. 

“I never’d thought about it before. Me and you,” Daryl said. The way the last bit, _me and you_ , fell off his lips so effortlessly sent tingles down Rick’s spine. “But since that night, I can’t stop. I been thinkin’ ‘bout what would’ve happened in here if that car alarm didn’t go off.”

Rick’s heart jumped. _Oh my god. He’s been thinking about it too._ Rick thought he oughta pinch himself and make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but even his most ballsy fantasies weren’t this audacious. He never imagined Daryl being so forward. 

“What—What do you think would’ve happened?” Rick said. It was a dirty thing to ask. He sounded too keen. His eyes shifted frantically over the floorboards as he fought the impulse to look up at Daryl. 

“I think you would’ve rode my dick,” said Daryl in a low drawl.

Rick choked. He stepped back and his eyes flew up to scan Daryl’s face. _Is this a joke? He must be joking._ Daryl didn’t seem to think it was funny. His eyes were lidded and dark. They were glued to Rick’s chest. He ran his tongue between his lips and the sight of it pulled Rick’s attention to them. The way the candlelight bounced off their slickness and made them glisten looked beautiful and wrong at the same time. Rick’s mind was swimming with the memory of Daryl’s lips against his. Daryl took another step forward and closed the distance Rick had created. Now that Rick had lifted his gaze, he found their faces only inches a part, Daryl looking back at him without anger, disgust, or fear. 

“You can,” Daryl said, “You can kiss me again.”

His permission was explicit. Hell, Daryl couldn’t possibly have been more explicit. _He’s coming on to you. He wants this._ From the sound of it, Daryl had started wanting things Rick hadn’t even yet considered. Could it really be possible that Daryl’s thoughts had become even more wrong than his own? 

Rick didn’t know what came over him. Whether it was Daryl’s frankness or an unconscious need to prod this strange thing they had entered into and see how sturdy it really was, Rick didn’t know, but for the second time that night he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. 

“I touched myself. Thinking about touching you,” Rick said.

A small smirk played at the corner of Daryl’s lips. The same self-satisfied expression that Rick remembered from before. “Me too. When you got a broken leg, there ain’t much to do. I’m glad I got Rick Grimes in my head to entertain me all those weeks.”

Rick’s body went numb. His head was starting to spin again but this time it was due to the increased blood flow to his hardening cock. Daryl’s admission that he jerked off to the thought of him was the hottest thing Rick had ever heard. _He wants you. This isn’t some fluke. He thought about it and he decided that he wants you._

“How—When—How did you…?” Rick said.

Daryl grabbed Rick by the hips and pulled him in. Their bodies were pressed up against each other now. If Daryl could feel the hardness in Rick’s pants, it certainly didn’t scare him away. He licked his lips again and looked at Rick expectantly. 

“You gonna ask questions or you gonna kiss me already?” 

Before he had the time to doubt himself, Rick put his hands on Daryl’s neck and pulled him in. Their lips connected and it was every bit as good as it had been before. It was as sweet and tender as Rick decided it to be; Daryl carefully followed along with the pace that was set. The familiar salt flavor, Daryl’s musky scent filling his nose, and the peculiar tickle of their facial hair as it brushed up against each other with each tentative movement all melded together in perfect unison and created a unique experience that Rick cataloged away in his mind under the file folder entitled _What it’s Like to Kiss Daryl Dixon_. 

It started out slow at first, only careful close-mouthed kisses, though Rick suspected it was because Daryl was mirroring Rick’s hesitance. As soon as Rick fell into it, let the tension in his muscles dissipate and eased his body against Daryl’s, the kiss deepened. Rick found himself letting his mouth go slack and welcoming the embrace of Daryl’s tongue with his own. The pace of it picked up until they were fighting for ragged gulps of air in the brief moments between fervent kisses. 

Rick’s fingers pulled their way up the back of Daryl’s neck and wound themselves into his tangle of dark hair. He pulled him in even closer than he had already been. The pressure on their mouths was powerful, almost painful. It seemed to excite Daryl even more. He dug his fingers into Rick’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises, and started to roll his own hips against Rick’s body. 

The feeling of it shocked Rick. Not much of the sensation made it to Rick’s cock thanks to the thickness of his jeans and the inadequacy of their position standing in the middle of the living room, but the intention behind it sent Rick’s mind to filthy places that made him unimaginably harder. 

He let his head fall onto Daryl’s shoulder, his fingers still curled tightly in his hair, his arms clutching Daryl close to him. Daryl buried his face into the crook of Rick’s neck. His hard, irregular breath, rough facial hair, and occasional drag of his damp lips all worked together to set the sensitive skin aflame with excited nerve endings. 

Daryl’s tongue licked a stripe up Rick’s neck. His teeth latched onto the prickly skin just under Rick’s jaw and Daryl sucked on it like a vampire trying to drain the blood from his body. The wetness of Daryl’s mouth suctioned to his neck, the tight grip he had on Rick’s hips, the way he was moving against Rick like he was already thinking about fucking him—it was too much. It was hardly more than a sigh, but Rick moaned softly into Daryl’s ear and it initiated a shift in Daryl’s course of action.

“C’mon,” Daryl said, mouth still pressed against Rick’s neck. Daryl took him by the hand and guided him toward the back of the house.


	6. Fixed

Daryl lead Rick by the forearm from the living room and down the hall. Rick followed willingly, tripping over his own feet the whole while. He was too turned on to resist, too ready to be afraid of what was coming next. Daryl opened each door at the end of the hall and looked over the bedrooms inside. 

“This one,” he said. He pulled Rick into the room and closed the door behind them. In an instant, he was glued against Rick with the same eager desperation as before, their mouths working together to support their jumble of tongues. 

Daryl’s hands were on Rick’s hips again, but this time they were creeping upward, his fingers ducking under the bottom hem of Rick’s shirt. Daryl hoisted it up. His dry, furnace-hot hands were spread out over the skin on Rick’s stomach, digging into him and holding him close. Rick broke away from their kiss to quickly pull his shirt up and over his head. He tossed it to the side and Daryl matched his efforts by shrugging out of his vest. Rick tugged lightly on cloth of Daryl’s shirt, but Daryl shook his head and started on Rick’s belt. Rick didn’t want to push the matter, so he moved onto Daryl’s belt. Both sets of metal clips were undone and the leather was pulled free of the loops. Two holsters and two belts were tossed aside and then Daryl’s hands were on the button of Rick’s jeans. Rick gasped lightly through his nose and it froze Daryl in the act. He looked up at Rick from under his mess of hair and undoubtedly saw fear looking back at him. Daryl dropped his hands and took a sidestep back. 

“You wanna do this?” he asked. 

Rick looked directly into Daryl’s eyes and nodded. He didn’t just want it, he _needed_ it. His fear hadn’t come from the prospect of seeing this through. It was fear that Daryl wouldn’t—that they’d come right up to the edge of something, only for it to fall to pieces and Rick would be left with the taste of something heartbreaking and bittersweet.

Daryl didn’t seem convinced by Rick’s response. There was a hint of fear on his face now too, like he wouldn’t dare reach out to touch Rick, even despite the fact that Rick was standing in front of him shirtless, lips swollen, heart racing, cock hard, and all but begging him for it. Rick sighed and looked to the ground. If Daryl was going to hesitate, then Rick had to be forward—otherwise, they wouldn’t get anywhere at all. He bent down and pulled off his boots. Once he tossed them aside, he peeled his socks off and did the same with them. 

Rick stood back up and stared intensely into Daryl’s eyes as he undid the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper. He held his eyes unwaveringly as he hooked his thumbs into his jeans and briefs and pulled them down off his hips. Rick shook them off his legs and kicked them aside and there he was, standing ass-naked in front of Daryl Dixon. It was only after a few seconds that Daryl finally found the courage to break away from Rick’s confident gaze. His eyes skirted quickly down Rick’s muscular frame until they landed on his cock. It was standing at full attention. Daryl’s raised his eyebrows at the sight of it.

“Damn man. I figured you had a big one, given your fat head ’n’ all, but…damn.”

Rick instantly flushed a deep crimson. He fought the urge to cover himself. “Shut up,” he said. 

“I’m just surprised you got the package to back up your attitude, is all.”

“Are you really talkin’ shit right now?” Rick said, a disbelieving smile creeping up on his face. 

A smirk formed at Daryl’s mouth. “Nah,” he said, undoing the button on his own jeans. He pulled them off and kicked them aside so he was standing in nothing but his t-shirt and boxer briefs. It was a little more clothing than Rick would have liked, but it was far better than anything Rick had ever seen.

“I know I’m not ‘sposed to be talkin’ ‘bout it,” Daryl said. He took a careful step toward Rick. “I’m ‘sposed to be touchin’ it, right?”

Rick inhaled sharply. He nodded and looked away. “That would be preferable, yeah,” he said to the bedroom wall. 

Daryl took another step toward him. There was no longer any space between them—it was just Rick, his straining cock out in the open, and Daryl hovering all around him, inches, centimeters away but no contact between them.

“Or would you like me to do both? I could talk about it while I touch it,” Daryl whispered. 

Rick’s cock twitched in anticipation. The wait was killing him. Daryl was such an awful tease. 

“When’d you get such a foul mouth?” Rick asked, only half serious.

Daryl shrugged. “Guess you bring it out of me.” 

He grabbed Rick at the base. Rick gasped at the sudden, unexpected pressure around his aching cock. Daryl pulled up at an painfully slow pace. Rick grabbed Daryl by the back on the neck and pulled him into a halfway hug. He breathed unevenly into Daryl’s ear and neck. Short, uncontrolled gasps of pleasure started slipping through as Daryl increased the pace and started touching him with conviction. Rick threw his other arm around Daryl’s neck and held him tightly as Daryl’s hand pumped over him. It was so good, felt so mind-numbingly gratifying to have that pressure around him, finally, finally, and it was _Daryl_ doing it to him. Rick’s knees buckled. It was a struggle to keep himself standing upright, even with Daryl supporting his weight with his sturdy shoulders. It wasn’t long before Rick’s disjointed breathing turned into a fast-flowing stream of erotic babbling.

“Shit _—_ oh god— _fuck_ , Daryl. Oh god yeah, that’s—that’s so good. Fuck, Daryl—”

“Whose got the foul mouth now?” Daryl asked.

Rick clamped his mouth shut, bit down hard on his lip, and returned to the soft, sigh-like moans he had been making earlier. Daryl tightened his grip around him.

“Hey, I wasn’t tellin’ ya to stop,” he said against Rick’s ear, picking up the pace of his hand. “I like hearing you all broken up.”

Rick let his mouth fall open and a genuine moan escaped. He sounded like a teenager, he knew. Rick couldn’t hold it back though. He didn’t want to. Daryl said it himself—he liked the sounds Rick made. Who was Rick to deny Daryl something that he wanted?

“You love this don’t you? You’re gonna cum with my hand ‘round your cock.”

It was true—Rick could feel it building inside him. Daryl’s hand was giving him just what he needed, as he needed it. As soon as Rick needed more—pressure, speed, whatever—Daryl delivered it to him, without any words being exchanged. It was like he could read into his body and knew exactly how to give it to him best. It wouldn’t be long before Daryl brought Rick right up to the edge. His filthy mouth was only speeding the process along. 

“You’re even better than you were in my head,” Daryl said as he slowed his pace to a languid stroll. Rick whined in the back of his throat. He couldn’t handle the thought of Daryl’s fantasies, he was already dangerously close. “Your dick’s bigger. Thicker. Heavier. Feels like a pistol ’n my hand.” 

Rick’s heart was hammering in his ears. He wasn’t thinking at all anymore. He was only a fraction of his former self. All his mind could process was Daryl’s body surrounding his, Daryl saying nasty shit into his ear, Daryl stroking his cock far, far too slowly. Rick’s hips jumped, desperate for more. Daryl slowed his hand down to a crawl. “You’re louder, too. Never did I figure Rick Grimes to turn into a moanin’ mess over a hand job.” 

“I’m not—not normally. You’re doin’ this to me,” Rick said.

Daryl put his hand on Rick’s hair-covered chest and pushed back to look at his face. “Why?” Daryl said, suddenly serious, “’t’s not like I’m anythin’ special.”

“You are.”

“What‘m I, your dream boy or somethin’?”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Rick said. Daryl’s cheeks flushed brightly. He looked away.

“In my head, you never say any stupid shit like that neither,” said Daryl.

“Sounds like you need to update your spank bank,” Rick replied with a joking smile.

Rick pulled him in by the shirt and kissed the corner of his mouth. Daryl turned into it and kissed him properly. He started up his stalled hand and began to quickly build the speed back up to what it once was. Only a minute later of frantic, open-mouth kisses and Daryl’s fast pumping grip and Rick was right on the edge again, pleading for Daryl to bring him past the brink.

Rick’s face was buried in the softness of Daryl’s shirt. His fists were balled up in the fabric on Daryl’s hips. He could smell him, feel him—Rick was surrounded on all sides, and the pressure was just right. It was everything he needed. His mind was reeling. His mouth was running. He was close, so fucking close—

“God. Aw, _fuck_. Yeah. Yeah. Ah—aw shit, _Daryl_ , I’m gonna—”

Suddenly the building pressure was gone, snatched away just before the finish line, and Rick was shoved backwards onto the bed. 

“What the hell?” he said as he propped himself up on his elbows.

Daryl crawled up onto the bed and positioned himself over the top of Rick. He shoved him back down so he lay flat across the bed. “Not yet,” he said.

“What are you doing?” 

“Shhh…” Daryl leaned down and kissed Rick’s lips lightly. “Trust me.”

“Trust you with _what_?” Rick tensed up. He wasn’t sure he was prepared for what was coming next. Still, his legs fell apart easily when Daryl separated them and nestled himself between them. His hands on either side of Rick’s torso were holding him up. He pressed his hips up against Rick’s.

“Just relax, man. I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

Daryl turned his attention toward himself. He tugged his boxer briefs down low so they were barely hanging off his hips. Then, he put his hand down the front of them and pulled out his dick. Rick’s heart sped up at the sight of it. It had been obvious that Daryl was hard for a long time now, but seeing it exposed—the pink fleshiness of it, standing at full attention, _begging_ to be touched—it made Rick’s whole body tremble with anticipation. To try and steady himself, Rick threw his arms around Daryl’s neck and wound a fist in his hair. 

Daryl hummed happily and buried his face into the crook of Rick’s neck. Rick felt his lips up against the sensitive skin below his jawline and could tell that Daryl was smiling. A firm hand gripped Rick by the back of the arm and rubbed its way up and down its length. Daryl had noticed Rick’s shaking. Immediately, Rick relaxed so that his body would still itself.  

Daryl took it as an indication to continue. He eased his weight back down on Rick, his newly exposed cock settling into place right beside Rick’s, pressing hard up against Rick’s hip. Rick’s own hardness flared at the contact it made with Daryl’s body.

Daryl wasted no time at all getting Rick the sort of pressure he needed. Daryl rocked his hips forward against Rick’s and neither of them could help the relieved moans that escaped. Rick arched his back and Daryl slid a hand under his body. He pulled Rick in tight and guided the slow rocking motion with a natural ease. 

Rick was having a hard time suppressing the sounds that rose up in his chest and throat with every forward roll of Daryl’s hips. He was overcome with the raw pleasure Daryl’s body provided him each time his solid form dragged itself up Rick’s length. Rick knew the image of it must be even better—Daryl’s lean form over the top of Rick, surrounding him on all sides, Rick’s legs wrapped around the back of his thighs, clutching onto him desperately as they rutted against one another with a steadily increasing pace. Just the thought of it was enough to push Rick near the edge. He was glad he couldn’t actually see any of it with his eyes shut tight and his face buried in Daryl’s mess of hair. Rick tried to keep his breathing as steady as possible around the tongue he had clamped between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. He was determined to demonstrate greater control than last time. He wanted to hold out for as long as he could, partly because of the mortification he’d feel if came after only a few minutes of Daryl grinding against him, and partly because he couldn’t bare for this moment to end so soon.

Daryl seemed to be on an entirely different page, however. If Rick was looking for the pace of a leisurely stroll, then Daryl was running a race. Daryl’s movements had become erratic as he had picked up the pace of their movement. The careful control that had guided him earlier had devolved into quick, stuttering hips. _He’s about to finish,_ Rick’s mind whispered to him. The realization set Rick’s body aflame and he realized then that he wouldn’t last much longer either. 

Desire surged through Rick. _Gotta see it. Need to watch while he cums._ Without hesitation, he gently pushed back on Daryl’s chest. Daryl’s movements slowed from confusion at the sudden shift in Rick, but his hips didn’t stop. Rick wove his fingers back through Daryl’s hair and brought their foreheads together. They looked into each other’s eyes and when Daryl saw nothing in Rick’s but lust, his hips slowly worked their way up to their old speed. 

Daryl’s eyes were pinched closed, but Rick watched him openly. The sight was like nothing his mind could have ever imagined. Daryl’s face framed by stringy hair, forehead creased in concentration, eyes shut tight, deeply flushed cheeks, and god—that _mouth_ —pinched, still glistening from Rick’s spit, his bottom lip held harshly in place by his top teeth—Rick stomach flipped when he realized that Daryl had been holding back his own sounds. 

His hand loosened itself from Daryl’s hair and slid down the side of Daryl’s face. Rick caught the lower lip with his thumb and carefully pulled it free from its restraint. Daryl’s eyes flew open at the act and he looked down at Rick. The ragged, heavy breaths he had been holding at bay by biting his lip tumbled forward and filled Rick’s ears. The sound of Daryl’s pleasure flooded through Rick’s body. He couldn’t help but roll his hips forward in time with Daryl’s and match the desperate edge with his own breathing. 

“Fuck—yeah, I wanna—" Rick huffed, “I wanna hear you.” 

Surprise flashed through Daryl’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a sensual darkness that Rick would remember in his dreams. Daryl ducked his head down and pressed his open mouth against Rick’s ear. Each hot breath Daryl expelled hit Rick’s ear like a puff of smoke and sent tingles down his spine. Daryl pushed his hips down exceptionally hard and this time he didn’t bite back his moan. The sound of it vibrated through Rick and a small moan caught in the back of his throat. He swallowed it just before it escaped but it died as a whimper that Daryl heard even from its place deep inside Rick’s chest. 

“Don’t—I wanna—I wanna hear you too,” Daryl said. His voice sounded wrecked. 

Rick let a huff escape, admitting his defeat. He couldn’t hold back any longer, not when Daryl requested otherwise, not when he was so close to the edge. He pulled Daryl in by the back of the neck and did the same that Daryl had done to him—he let his hot inconsistent breaths hit Daryl’s ear. With each forward roll of Daryl’s hips Rick let the edge to his breathing slip through. The sounds he was making quickly turned from breathing to moaning. Apparently, it was just what Daryl needed. 

“Aw, fuck Rick. I’m—I’m—" Daryl couldn’t get the words out in time. His hips jumped and he let out a strangled moan as white spurts of cum shot over Rick’s bare stomach.

“God, _Daryl_ —" Rick choked out and then it hit him like a train. His head fell back as his orgasm burned its way through him. His hips jumped through it. The familiar sensation of Daryl’s hip was replaced by the tight grip of his hand. Daryl stroked him through it as Rick fingers twisted in the quilt. 

When the haze finally settled and Rick returned to reality, he found Daryl kneeling beside him, an outstretched hand offering his red rag for Rick to clean up with. Rick wiped away the mess Daryl had made of him and tossed the used cloth aside. Daryl watched him from above, nervously chewing at his thumbnail. For all the confidence he had earlier, he certainly had none now. His face was etched with hesitance and worry. 

Rick smiled up at him reassuringly and motioned Daryl over to lay beside him. Daryl furrowed his brow and glanced over Rick’s face as if to read it. When he found no ill will there, he conceded and laid down. Rick left his arm out for Daryl to rest his head on. Daryl curled up against his side, running his knuckles over Rick’s ribs. They laid there that way for a long while, long enough that Rick had started to drift off into a blissful sleep when Daryl finally spoke. 

“What now?” he said. It was barely a whisper. There was a vulnerability to it that made Rick’s heart ache. 

“Now we take a nap,” Rick said casually. He smiled and pulled Daryl in tighter.

“I meant after.”

Rick had known what he had meant. It was a lame attempt to dodge the question, but in all honesty, it was simply because Rick didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t sure what came next. He still wasn’t sure what had just passed. 

“I s’pose that’s up to you,” Rick decided. 

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Rick peeked down at Daryl but only found the top of his head. “You already know where I stand.”

Daryl was quiet for a long time. When he did speak again, it was even quieter than before. 

“Never done nothin’ like this before,” he said.

Rick rubbed a hand over Daryl’s arm and pressed his lips to the top of his head. It pulled Daryl’s gaze upwards and Rick met it with soft eyes and an easy smile. 

“I don’t have any qualms ‘bout being your first, darlin’,” he said softly.

Daryl’s face flushed brightly. His gaze dropped. He was silent for another long moment. Rick knew that Daryl wasn’t much for talking about these sorts of things, and he felt a strange sense of honor knowing that Daryl was willing to try with him. He ran his fingers through Daryl’s hair and pressed another kiss to the top of his head to try and coax the words forward. After the events of this morning, it didn’t feel too intimate an act. _No_ , Rick thought, _it feels just right_.

Minutes came and passed that way, Daryl pressed up against Rick’s warm body, deep in thought, while Rick ran his hand over Daryl’s arm and thought about nothing at all. For once, Rick’s thoughts had been chased back, stilled into submission. It was heavenly. 

“Willin’ to take it for a test drive,” Daryl finally said, in that laid-back way he normally spoke. He nuzzled in closer to Rick and laid an open hand over Rick’s chest. Rick couldn’t help but wonder if Daryl could feel the way his heart was hammering. Rick nodded as a happy smile played at his lips.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”


End file.
